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http://www.archive.org/details/farcountrypoemsOOevanrich 


THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


The  Far  Country 

BY 

FLORENCE   WILKINSON 

Author  of 
Kings  and  Queens 


NEW  YORK 

MCOLURE,  PHILLIPS  &  CO. 

MCMVI 


COPYRIGHT,   1906,  BY 

FLORENCE  WILKINSON 

Published  April,  1906 


DEDICATORY 

MY  FRIENDS  AND  BELOVEDS,   I   GIVE   THIS  BOOK   TO  YOU, 
YOU  THAT   HAVE   WARMED   ME,  WELCOMED   ME,  KEPT   ME  TRUE; 
SWEETLY   BELIEVED   IN    ME   ALWAYS,   NOBLY   PRAISED   ME, 
SEEN  WHAT  WAS  BEST  IN  ME,  BY  YOUR  LOVE  UPRAISED  ME. 
YOU  THAT  HAVE   CIRCLED  ME  WITH  YOUR  SHINING  FACES^ — 

CLOUDS  OF  GLORY  ABOVE  MY  DIFFICULT  PLACES, 

(God,  THAT  GAVE  YOU  TO  ME,  I  THANK  HiM  FOR  HiS  GRACES!) 

YOU  MY  COMPANIONS,  IN  THAT  FaR  CoUNTRY  OUR  GOAL, 

THIS   IS   YOUR   BOOK,   BELOVEDS,   MY    HEART   AND   MY   BRAIN    AND 

MY  SOUL. 
THE  WORLD,  PERHAPS,  WILL  FORGET  OR  PASS  IT  BY, 
DUST  OF  THEIR  FEET,  THEIR  BREATH,  THEIR  GLANCING  EYE, 
YET  FROM  SUCH  CLAY  I  TOOK  TO  BUILD  THEREBY. 
YOU,  ABOVE  ALL,  DEAR   HEART,  WHO  READ  AND   KNOW, 
ACCEPT  A  GIFT  THE  GREATEST  I  CAN  BESTOW. 
CRITICS   MAY  SMILE  AND  TOSS  THE   BOOK  ON  THE   SHELF, 
BUT    YOU,    DEAR    HEABT^    SHALL    SAY:    "  So    THIS    IS    FLORENCE 

HERSELF." 


Ml9iS?0 


CONTENTS 


PART   ONE:   THE    UNATTAINABLE 

PAGE 

Wind-Footed    Loveliness 3 

Melanie  a  Melancon 7 

Lettice 10 

Dancing   Gavr'inay 13 

Jannik  and  Genevieve 16 

Monique  Rose 23 

Rose    Here     ^ 27 

At  Sleeping  Water 32 

Kismet  and  the  King S6 

AsGARDA  in  Baghdad 38 

A  Girl  of  Lazistan 42 

Captain    and    King 45 

The  Poet  Moon 46 

Alpine    Glow 47 

The  Slain  Ones 48 

Twilight   in    Italy 50 

The    Unattainable 51 

Compensation 52 

The    Passionate    Pilgrim 54 

[vii] 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The  Heart's  Country 56 

The  Mountain  God 57 

The    Pilgrim    Bell 58 

The  Country  That  He  Knew     .     .     .     .     »  61 

In  a  Ruined  Abbey 64 

The  Curse  on  Dunoon 66 

We  Were  Lovers 70 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 

Sleeping     Erinnys 77 

The  Fugitives 80 

A    Challenge 82 

As  a   Little   Child 83 

Forerunners 84 

The   Railway  Yard 86 

The  House  to  His  First  Mistress     ....  89 

It  Is  Our  Sin  to  Have  Remembered   ...  91 

The    Past        92 

Recognition 93 

A  Single  Mind 94 

The  Supreme  Forgiveness 95 

The  Sorrowful  Stream 96 

Theophany 97 

The  Vain  Prince 98 

The  Wedding  Guest 99 

Introspect 101 

The  Dying  Child 103 

[viii] 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The  Unremembered 104 

After    Victory 106 

Beyond  the  Spectrum 107 

The  Child  That  Once  You  Were     ....  109 

The    Diary 110 

Heimweh Ill 

The  Eldest  Born 113 

The  Dream-Child 116 

The    Solitary 118 

They  That  Stand  on  the  Edge 122 

The    Tortured    Millions 124 

The  Unknown  Quantity 126 

Genius 128 

The    Prophet 130 

Extinction 132 

The  Traveller 133 

White  Nights 134 


PART  THREE:  THE  FAR  COUNTRY 

The  Cloud  and  the  Mountain 139 

To   Harriet 142 

Before    the    Dawn 144 

To  a  Wood  Path 146 

The  Lamp  of  the  Genii 148 

The  Borderland 151 

Vagrants .  152 

Low  Tide 154 

[ix] 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Waking   Song 156 

Tension 158 

Water-Fowl  in  the  Fog 159 

Wounded l6l 

The   Grebe 163 

The  Heart  op  the  Woods 165 

Purple  Crocuses  in  the  Val  Bregaolia     .     .  167 
Rondels 

The  East l68 

The   Bird 169 

Sermons  in  Trees 170 

Sea-Blood 172 

The  Call  of  Spring 175 

The     Glacier 177 

The  House  of  Great  Content 179 

The    Far    Country 181 

Indian  Summer 184 

The  Soul  of  the  Goldenrod 187 

Song  of  the  Saw-Mill 190 

At  Dead  of  Night 197 

After  the  Long  Rain 199 

The  Wood-Spell 201 


PART   FOUR:   YOU   AND   I 

I.  The  Pine-Tree  Lovers 219 

II.  The  Simple-Hearted  Days     ....     220 
III.  Childhood 220 

[x] 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

IV.  The    Fugue 221 

V.  After  Long  Absence 222 

VI.  The   Cross  of   Joy 222 

VII.  A  City  Dweller 223 

VIII.  And  One  Stands  Out 224 

IX.  Upon  the  Fringes  of  the  Forest     .     .  224 

X.  As  IN   the   Endless  Night     ....  225 


The  Pure  in  Heart — A  Dramatic  Interlude     229 


[ri] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


WIND-FOOTED    LOVELINESS 


There's  a  llttle  land  of  waterfalls  I  love,  I  love. 

(Oh,  you  girl  with  the  wind  in  your  hair!) 
Fantastic  Fedoz  a  torrent  of  snow 
And  Piz  Corvatch  high  up  in  the  air. 
Like  the  bubble  a  god  might  blow; 
And  Orlegna  that  we  looked  for  all  the  tossing  after- 
noon 
Till  the  mists  drifted  wide  and  the  glacier  died, 

A  pink  flame  soaring  up  to  the  moon. 


(^Ohf  you  girl  with  the  foam  in  your  hair!) 
There  was  Monte  Muretto  a  dazzling  stiletto. 
And  Fex  shivering  on  her  white  stair. 
Dripping-foot,  wind-blown  and  aflare, 
Till  the  blue  hills  rushed  together  in  the  vast  prime- 
val weather 
Like  the  prows  of  fabled  ships  when  the  dying  sun 
dips 
To  the  night,  underneath  Lunghino's  feather. 

[3] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


There's  a  little  land  of  waterfalls  I  love,  I  love. 

One  waterfall  only  a  voice, 

Flung  up  to  the  peaks,  a  voice. 

{Oh,  you  girl  with  the  clouds  in  your  hair, 

A  darling,  a  splendour,  a  dare!) 
How  the  ecstatic  memory  stings 
Of  Caroggia's  misty  wings 

And  the  chasm  magnificent  where  that  whirling  white- 
ness went. 

Courier  to  the  breathless  lips  of  kings. 


(Oh,  you  girl  with  the  sunset  in  your  hair. 
How  I  wanted  you,  wanted  you  there!) 
By  the  brook  of  Surlej  just  a  lapful  of  spray 
And  a  curveting  gleam  in  the  air: 
And  Orlegna  that  we  looked  for  all  Apollo's  after^ 

noon 
Till  the  hunter-twilight  came  and  the  glacier  broke 
to  flame. 
Fading  up  to  the  crescent  of  the  moon. 


There's  a  little  land  of  waterfalls  I  love,  I  love. 
{Oh,  you  girl  with  the  stars  in  your  hair. 
How  I  kissed  you  and  revelled  in  you  there!) 

Heroic,  afraid,  how  I  held  you  undismayed 
[4] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


While  the  reapers  carolled  homeward  from  Campfer. 
And   Orlegna  that  we   looked   for   all  the   wreathed 

afternoon 
Floated    off    upon    the    dark    while    you    whispered, 

"  Hark,  Hark 
To  the  drunken   music  of  the   reapers   by  the 

moon !  '* 


There's  a  little  land  of  waterfalls  I  love,  I  love; 
Swift  white  Mera  runs  below,  white  Bondasca  lifts 
above. 
{Oh,  you  girl  with  the  kisses  in  your  hair, 
How  I  loved  you  and  loved  you  there!) 
I  am  calling  you  still  from  your  fountain-singing  hill, 

A  darling,  splendour,  a  dare. 
There  are  grey  leagues  and  abysses  between  me  and 

your  kisses 
And   Orlegna  that  we  looked   for   all  that  vanished 

afternoon 
Till  the  zodiac  darkness  came  and  the  glacier's  globe 
of  flame 
'  Was  a  sister  to  the  circlet  of  the  moon. 


{Oh,  you  girl  with  the  glory  in  your  hair. 
Do  you  listen,  remember  and  care?) 

[5] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


It  is  I,  the  empyreal  angel  of  your  youth, 
Smitten  now  and  bruised  by  unimaginable  ruth. 
With   a   helmeted   sky-coloured    Vision    riding    down 

despair ; 
When  I  lay  me  prone  in  the  mould,  weary  and  beaten 

and  old. 
Will  you  come  and  whisper  to  me  softly  there. 
In  the  autumn-leaf  of  golden  Castasegna, 
When  it  haunts  me, — the  aerial  wistfulness  of  Or- 

legna, — 
You,  imperishable  fragment,  torment,  lure  and  quest, 
Whisper  to  me  in  the  darkness  with  your  lips  on  my 

poor  breast, — 
Did  you  find  that  falling  water  under  some 

Pierian  moon? 
Was  the  look  of  her  sweet  as  the  sound  of  her  was 
That  miraculous  afternoon? 


m 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


MELANIE  A  MELANCON 


O,  Melanie  a  Melan9on, 
You  used  to  love  the  free  hillside 
Where  purple-skirted  shadows  glide; 
The  billowing  of  the  green  marsh-grass 
When  winds  a-vagabonding  pass. 


You  used  to  love  the  tinging,  cool 
Plash  of  the  heron  in  the  pool 
Of  the  wide  roslands  by  Bel'Ile, 
Taking  his  lonely  evening  meal. 


O,  Melanie  a  Melan9on, 

How  well,  how  well  you  used  to  know 

Fleet  things  that  fly,  sweet  things  that  blow. 


The  roving  warbler  joyed  to  fare 
With  you  along  the  river-stair, 

[7] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


The  rippling,  rushing  amber  stream 
In  cedar  gloom^  afoam,  agleam; 


The  tented  trees  in  nightly  camp, 
The  firefly's  wandering  faery  lamp. 
The  long  moan  of  the  houseless  tide. 
The  golden  eagle's  cliff-born  pride. 


The  saintly  hours  of  the  night 
With  star-girt  brow,  that  walk  in  white. 
All  these  you  cherished  when  I  knew 
Springtide,  the  northland,  love,  and  you. 


O,  Melanie  a  Melan9on, 

Where  the  blue  juniper  stands  tall. 

Your  house  is  very  dark  and  small. 


The  loyal  children  of  the  field 
Linger  about  your  quiet  bield. 
Brave  yarrow  and  remembering  rue 
And  meadow-sweet,  for  love  of  you. 

[8] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


When  April's  tremulous  twilights  fill 
The  piping  swamps,  your  mouth  is  still. 
The  troops  of  sunrise,  bannered  red, 
Unminded  march  above  your  head. 


Your  folded  glance  will  never  swerve 
To  watch  the  sea-gull's  splendid  curve. 
Nor  heed  you  any  more  at  all 
The  hill-bird's  cry,  the  yorlin's  call. 


O,  Melanie  a  Melan9on, 
Have  you  found  life  so  passing  sweet 
Within  that  chamber's  dumb  retreat.'* 
Or,  should  God  point  you  to  the  key 
Would  you  return  to  spring  and  me, 
Melanie  a  Melan9on? 


[9] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


LETTICE 


In  the  vale  of  the  Cornwallis 

Lettice  lies  asleep. 
And  the  tides  forever  moving 

All  about  her  creep. 
And  the  five  sea-rivers  flowing 
Day  and  night,  keep  coming,  going. 
But  they  rouse  not  little  Lettice 

From  her  sleep. 

Through  the  marshes  of  Cornwallis, 

Through  the  rusty  red, 
Slips  the  sea  his  shining  fingers 

All  about  her  bed. 
And  the  zigzag  birds  are  stringing 
Up  above  the  bleak  Cornwallis, 
And  the  sad  brown  grasses  singing 
Round  her  head. 

Little  Lettice  was  my  sister. 
And  we  used  to  play 
[10] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


On  the  hills  and  by  the  beaches. 

In  the  salt  sea-spray. 
Lettice  loved  the  squirrel's  chirring 
And  the  crumpled  leaves  a-stirring 
In  the  vale  of  the  Cornwallis 

All  the  day. 


Bushy-Tail  is  now  beside  her. 

Hands  upon  his  breast 
As  I  crossed  them  when  he  followed 

Lettice  to  her  rest. 
Soon  the  young  corn  will  be  shooting 
In  the  vale  of  the  Cornwallis, 
And  the  white-throats  will  be  fluting 

By  their  nest. 


Soon  sea-lavender  will  purple 

Avon's  reedy  shore. 
And  the  grey  marsh-rosemary 
Fill  the  dikes  once  more. 
Lettice,  Lettice,  will  you  listen 
When  the  buds  begin  to  glisten 
In  the  vale  of  the  Cornwallis 
By  your  door? 

[11] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Lettice,  like  the  flowers,  is  sleeping 

Underneath  the  snow. 
But  I  think  that  she  will  waken 

When  the  twin-flowers  blow. 
And  that  we  shall  roam  together 
Through  the  vale  of  the  Cornwallis 
As  we  used  in  sweet  blue  weather 
Long  ago. 


[12] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


DANCING    GAVR'INAY 

(Druid) 

1  LIE  in  the  shadow,  I  melt  with  the  foam; 

Menhir  and  cromlech 

At  lone  Plouharnec, 

In  those  vast  ruined  porches 

I  lift  my  pale  torches. 
But  the  wind  and  the  wave  are  my  house  and  my  home. 


I  am  the  fairy  Gavr'inay 

Of  the  isles  that  march  on  the  se 
The  glistening  ghouls 
Of  the  green  sea-pools 

They  laugh  and  scatter  for  me. 
I  sleep  in  the  caves 
Or  I  run  with  the  waves 

From  Loctudy  to  L'lle  Tudy. 


I  lie  in  the  shadow,  I  melt  with  the  foam; 
My  words  are  sea-birds  that  call  as  they  scurry; 
My  feet  are  light  billows  that  dance  in  their  hurry. 
Armel,  get  thee  hence  in  haste  to  thy  home! 
[18] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


I  am  the  fairy  Gavr'inay. 

Are  you  sick  for  sight  of  the  broom? 

Dip  your  hands  in  my  hair 

Streaming  bright  on  the  air; 
It  is  gold  of  the  prickly  bloom. 

Late,  late  it  grows 

And  the  black  wind  blows 
Where  the  Rocks  of  the  Dead  Men  boom. 


There  is  never  a  secret  your  heart  has  known 
But  my  smiling  lips  can  tell. 

In  the  bosom  of  night 

I  am  dear  delight — 
O  list  to  the  mariner's  knell! 

The  petrels  skim 

And  the  land  shows  dim 
From  Plouharnec  to  Ploermel. 


Armel,  the  little  lips  of  thy  child. 
In  his  cradle  at  home  are  blowing  thee  kisses. 
Say,  hast  thou  forgotten  thy  wife's  caresses. 
Firelight  and  lamplight  and  homelier  blisses 
For  Gavr'inay,  Gavr'inay,  thing  of  the  wild? 
[14] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


I  am  the  fairy  Gavr'inay ; 

I  dance  on  the  darkening  sea. 

When  the  loud  rocks  roar 

On  the  whitening  shore 
I  will  swing  my  lamps  for  thee. 

And  the  savage  fell 

By  Ploermel 
Shall  ring  with  the  voice  of  me. 


The  Rocks  of  the  Dead  are  smothered  in  fleece. 
Mother  Ankou  is  shearing  her  sheep. 

A  wreck,  a  wreck. 

By  Plouharnec! 
Let  the  bell  toll  long  and  deep. 

Yet  ah,  nay,  nay, 

'Tis  Gavr'inay 
Has  cradled  his  soul  to  sleep. 


I  lie  in  the  shadow,  I  melt  with  the  foam; 
Menhir  and  cromlech 
At  lone  Plouharnec, — 
In  those  vast  ruined  porches 
I  lift  my  pale  torches. 
But  the  wind  and  the  wave  are  my  house  and  my  home. 
[15] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


JANNIK    AND    GENEVIEVE 

(Breton) 

oUN  drips  down  in  a  well  of  gold; 
Flying  geese  like  a  line  enscrolled, 
Wild  black  writing  across  the  gold. 


Mother,  will  he  not  come  to-night, 

Jannik,  Jannik? 
(The  sun-burnt  sound  of  his  biniou; 
Oh,  the  dim  sweet  hour  when  he  came  to  woo!) 
He  swung  the  scythe  through  the  wet  luzerne 
And  he  sang  to  his  swathe  at  the  shining  turn; 
(Oh,  the  words  of  the  song  that  he  made  me 
learn !) 

It  is  long  since  he  came; 

I  will  call  his  name: 

Jannik,  Jannik ! 


Sunset  rusting  the  Druid  fell 
And  the  little  sea-pools  by  Tregastel; 
Cromlechs  grim  on  the  Druid  fell. 
[16] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Little  daughter,  listen  to  me, 

Beloved  one! — 
(Matin  and  vesper  and  holy  bell. 
Let  him  fast  and  pray  in  his  tower  cell;) 
He  is  now  a  priest  that  was  Jannik, — 
Cloak  and  cowl  and  the  shaven  cheek; 
(I  have  sealed  his  lips  that  he  dare  not  speak.) 

A  little  regret. 

And  then  to  forget. 

Beloved  one! 


Climbing  the  cliffs  of  Dead  Men's  Bay 
Rock-hewn  desolate  Saint  Herve, 
Finger  of  God  over  Dead  Men's  Bay. 


Little  daughter,  we  dance  to-night 

In  Bustephan. 
(Jannik  the  peasant  never  again 
Will  pipe  to  her,  come  to  her,  over  the  fen,) 
Little  daughter,  they  dance  the  gavotte. 
Young  Corentin  and  Bernadotte. 
(She  closes  her  eyes  and  answers  not.) 

Candles  and  wine 

And  the  flame  of  the  pine 

In  Rustephan. 

[17] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Over  the  length  of  the  languid  land 
Twilight  laid  like  a  quiet  hand ; 
Step  of  the  tide  to  the  tremulous  land. 


Mother,  my  little  hands  are  cold. 

The  dark  has  come. 
(Jannik  alone  in  the  belfry  tower! 
Mary,  have  pity !    This  was  the  hour.) 
Fling  me  away  that  gown  of  green, 
With  its  trailing  length  and  its  hateful  sheen, 
(Oh,  the  sarrasin  fields  where  the  children  glean !) 

Shut  me  the  door 

And  speak  no  more. 

The  dark  has  come. 


Gossamer  night  like  a  web  of  black ; 
Flash  of  foam  on  the  west  wind's  track; 
Star  of  Saint  Herve  piercing  the  black. 


Mother,  I  am  too  tired  to-night. 

Too  tired  to  sleep. 
(I  am  sick  of  the  swish  of  the  dancers'  feet 
And  the  maniac  measure  the  pipes  repeat.) 
Sing  me  a  song  of  the  Washers  white, 
[18] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Women  three  in  the  house  of  night. 

(They  are  washing  for  me  in  the  grey  moonlight.) 

Sing  me  a  song, 

Long  and  long; 

Sing  me  to  sleep. 


Deep  and  deep  is  the  bosom  of  sleep; 
Fields  of  the  poppy  where  peasants  reap. 
Trill  of  the  skylark  thrilling  her  sleep. 


Little  daughter,  my  Genevieve! 

She  is  asleep. 
(The  pitiful  hair  spread  out  like  grain. 
The  wasted  hand  on  the  counterpane!) 
Never  and  never  a  peasant  can 
Wed  with  the  house  of  Rustephan. 
(Oh,  the  heart  of  a  maid  and  the  heart  of  a  man !) 

I  will  kiss  her  brow 

And  leave  her  now. 

She  is  asleep. 


Folded  hands  of  Genevieve; 
Tides  that  understand  and  grieve 
All  night  long  for  Genevieve. 

[19] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Father-in-God,  when  the  sea  goes  out 

By  Tregastel, 
(Oh,  the  marble  calm  of  the  buried  face. 
The  vanished  voice  and  the  empty  place !) 
When  the  sea  goes  out  on  the  orange  rocks 
And  I  hear  the  tinkle  of  homeward  flocks, 
(What  a  cruel  calm  is  the  calm  that  mocks !) 

I  hear,  I  hear. 

In  the  evening  clear 

By   Tregastel— 


Angelus  pealing  from  Saint  Herve; 
Souls  of  the  drowned  in  Dead  Men's  Bay 
Reaching  white  hands  to  Saint  Herve. 


When  the  sea  goes  out  to  its  mothering  caves. 

To  Tal-Yvern, 
(Oh,  the  voice  of  the  priest  that  wept  above  her; 
The  voice  of  Jannik,  her  peasant  lover!) 
I  hear  the  sound  of  his  biniou 
And  they  walk  in  the  fields  as  they  used  to  do, 
(Oh,  the  dim  sweet  hour  when  he  came  to  woo !) 

And  the  green  of  the  sea 

Is  memory  to  me 

At  Tal-Yvern. 
[20] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Leagues  of  silence  large  and  grave, 
Feathery  moon  that  crinkles  the  wave; 
Liquid  green  and  the  silence  grave. 


Father-in-God,  when  dark  comes  down 

On  Rustephan, 
(The  sleepers  mutter  as  past  each  door 
My  garments  whisper  along  the  floor) 
Within  the  shadow  of  the  stair 
Her  bier  stands  there,  the  torches  flare, 
(Her  face  between  the  outspread  hair) 

My  tears  down  fall 

Upon  her  pall 

In  Rustephan. 


Stroke  of  midnight  from  the  tower; 
Sigh  of  a  soul  awake  that  hour; 
Sad  small  star  in  the  belfry  tower. 


I  kneel  and  ask  her  to  forgive. 

Forgive  my  sin. 
Father-in-God,  my  tears  down  fall; 
(She  smiles  and  answers  not  at  all.) 
[21] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


That  moonbeam  on  the  floor  by  thee 
Lies  not  so  straight,  so  white,  as  she, 
(So  still  and  smiling  up  at  me !) 
Mary  in  Heaven, 
Ah,  seven  times  seven. 
Forgive  my  sin! 


Skylark  springing  above  her  head; 
Wrinkled  splash  of  a  poppy  red ; 
Quiver  of  summer  above  her  head. 


[22] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


MONIQUE    ROSE 


With  folded  hands  sits  Monique  Rose 
Day-long,  in  tranced  eldering  doze; 
White  hair  against  the  parchment  cheek 
And  thin  lips  shrunk  in  silence  meek. 


Not  thus  her  look  was  years  ago 
When  she  was  Rose  a  Jeune  Comeau, 
And  he  who  loved  her  sailed  the  main 
By  Minas  Rips  and  Pointe  aux  Chenes, 
And  she  with  him  from  Grand  Manan 
To  the  bleak  rock  of  Miquelon. 


But  now  the  kitchen  pane  beside 
She  sees  the  grey-faced  rain-storm  stride. 
Blotting  the  tortuous  town,  the  bay, 
Scattering  the  mowers  from  the  hay, 
And  broad-hipped  women  with  their  rakes. 
Nor  heeds  she  how  the  poplar  shakes. 
[28] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


For  all  within  is  warm  and  still. 
The  house-fly  burrs  along  the  sill; 
Our  Lady  smiles  upon  the  shelf. 
By  pampas  grass  and  plates  of  Delf, 


Just  as  she  left  them  years  ago, 
When  she  was  Rose,  he  Jeune  Comeau, 
And  with  the  west  wind  whistling  free 
The  Marie-Belle  stood  out  to  sea. 


The  fir-trees  drip  their  purple  cones 
Among  the  velvet  graveyard  stones; 
She  knows  the  tree  that  marks  his  grave; 
Beyond,  St.  Mary's  turquoise  wave 
Where  hulking  whalers  lie  at  ease 
And  mackerel  sails  bulge  to  the  breeze. 


Her  grandson's  wife,  black-eyed  Jacquette, 
Hums  all  the  day  a  chansonnette ; 
With  babe  at  breast  or  foot  on  loom 
She  fills  with  stir  the  homely  room. 
[24] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Grandmere  is  simple,  muttering  low, 
Deaf  to  the  folk  that  come  and  go. 
Her  grandson's  wife  with  careless  hand 
Pins  the  lace  coif  and  ribbon  band. 


But  the  vague  eyes  of  Monique  Rose 
Hide  clearer  thoughts  than  Jacquette  knows. 
Far  journeyings  to  the  out-seas  dim 
That  stretch  beyond  the  horizon's  rim; 


Fair  memories  of  companioned  years 
Before  her  cheeks  were  crossed  by  tears, 
And  brighter  than  the  drift-wood  flame 
That  freaks  the  chimney's  blackened  frame. 


After  the  wide,  low  sun  has  set 
And  all  the  land  is  violet. 
She  hears  the  rolling  sea-gate  pour. 
The  shingle  booming  on  the  shore ; 
And  where  the  mounting  darkness  yearns 
The  Stella  Maris  melts  and  burns. 
[25] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


But  when  the  house  is  fast  asleep 
Does  Monique  Rose  long  vigil  keep. 
Watching  across  her  window  glass 
The  stars  in  pale  procession  pass. 


Nor  fear  nor  pain  her  eyesight  blur. 
When  God's  tall  Angel  stands  by  her. 
Bursting  the  night  with  fringent  glow 
For  Monique  Rose  a  Jeune  Comeau. 


[26] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


ROSE   HERE 


On  the  2nd  of  November,  1903,  the  French  boat 
Vesper  was  wrecked  on  the  coast  of  Brittany,  at  the 
point  of  Pern,  near  the  He  d'Ouessant.  It  was  three 
o'clock  of  a  stormy  foggy  morning.  Fourteen  of  the 
shipwrecked  crew  were  cut  adrift  in  a  small  skiff  and 
lost  their  bearings  in  the  dense  fog  and  fierce  gale 
and  were  driven  upon  the  treacherous  rocks  of  that 
terrible  coast.  Towards  six  o'clock  of  the  same  morn- 
ing, Rose  Here,  an  aged  peasant  woman,  destitute  to 
the  verge  of  starvation,  stood  on  a  ragged  point  of 
cliff,  gathering  in  the  night's  harvest  of  fish  and  sea- 
weed. She  heard  below  her  in  the  tumult  of  the 
shrouded  morning  the  cries  of  the  abandoned  and 
desperate  men.  Although  not  able  to  swim,  she 
plunged  into  the  sea,  was  picked  up  by  the  skiff,  and 
by  her  knowledge  of  the  coast  was  able  to  guide  the 
terrified  sailors  into  the  safety  of  the  harbour. 

(From  the  report  of  the  Syndic  of  Ouessant  Fishermen, 
published  in  the  Paris  Figaro,  December  21,  1903.) 

1  HE  hurl  of  the  sea,  the  swirl  of  the  fog, 
The  black  black  wind  like  the  scourge  of  a  flog; 
The  boom  of  the  sea  in  the  gloom  of  dawn 
And  the  teeth  of  the  foam  where  the  tide  drove  on. 

[27] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


The  whip  of  the  wind  round  the  point  of  Pern, 
That  Rock  of  Wrecks  where  dead  men  learn 
The  voyage  that  has  no  return. 


Rose  Here  stood  sullen  by  the  sea 
And  the  haul  of  the  deep-sea  nets 
She  plucked  across  her  knee. 


**  Shroud  o*  the  mist,  my  sister/*  said  she, 

"  There's  ruin  abroad  on  the  steppes  of  the  sea. 

Shroud  o'  the  mist,  keep  me  blind,"  said  she. 


"  I  am  haggard  and  brown  with  wrinkled  lips ; 

What  do  I  care  for  stranger  ships 

Or  the  face  of  a  corpse  that  dances  and  dips 

Like  a  swollen  gourd  on  the  sea's  finger-tips? 

I  am  ancient  and  empty  with  wrinkled  lips. 

Shroud  o'  the  fog,  my  sister,"  said  she, 

"  There's  ruin  abroad  on  the  steppes  of  the  sea.' 


She  plucked  from  the  nets  across  her  knee 
The  struggling  harvest  of  the  sea. 
Small  creatures  writhing  to  be  free, 

[28] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Throb  of  the  gill  and  glassy  eye. 
Pale  mouths  that  gasped  in  misery. 
The  fishes  pleaded  not  to  die. . 


*'  Little  fishes,  my  brothers/'  said  she, 
**  Yea,  this  same  end  shall  come  to  me. 
Only  I  pay  the  churchyard  fee. 


**  And  those  rich  folk  who  buy  and  eat 
Your  little  bodies  for  their  meat. 
Themselves  are  food  i'  the  winding  sheet. 


Little  fishes,  my  brothers,"  said  she, 
'Tis  a  weary  end  for  the  spoil  of  the  sea." 


The  boom  of  the  waves  in  the  thick  of  the  dawn 
And  the  teeth  of  the  foam  as  the  tide  drove  on. 
"  O  ravenous  sea,  my  mother,"  she  said, 
"Do  you  hunger  for  live  folk  or  for  dead } 
There's  a  million  of  souls  have  gone  to  your  maw; 
I  know  each  cave  where  you  crouch  and  draw 
The  pitiful  bodies  recoiling  in  awe 
From  the  soapy  touch  of  your  foam-cold  claw. 

[29] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


"  Are  you  hungry  this  morning,  O  mother/*  she  said, 
"  And  with  lovers  or  wives  would  you  fain  be  fed  ? 
I  am  not  loved  and  I  am  not  wed. 
I  am  hungry  myself,  O  mother,"  she  said. 


The  lie  d'Ouessant  gave  a  human  cry. 
It  flew  from  far  like  a  hectic  star, 
The  voice  of  men  who  dread  to  die. 
The  voice  of  men  on  death's  strait  street. 
Of  quick  souls  in  a  winding-sheet. 


Rose  Here  leaned  over  from  her  rock ; 

The  sea  in  her  face  like  a  snowy  flock 

Shook  and  screamed  to  menace  and  mock. 

"  They  are  down  below  where  the  sea-bulls  fight, 

Where  the  horns  of  the  rock  like  beasts  interlock; 

'Tis  I  who  know  their  piteous  plight. 

And  the  shoals  of  the  sea  are  as  glass  to  my  sight. 

I  must  leap  below  if  I  dare,  if  I  dare, 

I  must  save  them,  save  them,"  said  Rose  Here. 


(Through  the  smoke  of  the  sea  and  the  smother  of 

foam 
She  will  pilot  their  boat  to  the  harbour  of  home. 
[30] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


They  will  ride  the  sea  and  the  sullen  crest 
Into  the  peace  of  the  roadstead  of  Brest.) 


"  They  are  hungry  for  life,  O  mother/'  she  said, 
"  As  I  am  hungry  for  meat  and  bread. 
'Tis  a  fierce,  fierce  pain  to  be  hungry/'  she  said, 
"  And  a  fiercer  joy  to  be  fed,  to  be  fed. 
I  come/'  she  called,  **  I  have  heard  your  cry. 
You  are  young  and  eager.    It's  hard  to  die. 
You  are  full  of  blood  as  once  was  I. 
You   are   humans.     I   love   you.     .     .     .     You   shall 
not  die." 


[81] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


AT  SLEEPING  WATER 


All  day  the  showery  poplar  stands 

By  Sleeping  Water. 
The  redwing  calls  from  the  wet  landes. 
Black  willows  dip  their  streaming  hands 

In  Sleeping  Water. 

All  day  poor  Landry  by  his  door 
From  dawn's  pink  fog  till  evening  hoar 
Looks  for  the  ship  that  comes  no  more 
To  Sleeping  Water. 

His  neighbours  smile  and  shake  the  head 
For  little  Jeanne  is  long  since  dead, 
Who  with  her  madcap  lover  fled 
From  Sleeping  Water. 

All  day  the  blue-yoked  oxen  strain 
The  dripping  bronze  kelp-laden  wain. 
Creaking  along  the  seaward  lane 
By  Sleeping  Water. 
[32] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


All  day  poor  Landry's  ancient  gaze. 
Holding  the  hope  of  other  days. 
Is  fixed  upon  the  long  sea-haze 
By  Sleeping  Water. 


The  russet  hills,  fringed  low  with  spruce. 
Slope  into  creeks  of  flower-de-luce, 
Blue-bannered  by  the  reedy  sluice 
Of  Sleeping  Water. 


The  grave  Acadian  women  pass, 
Black-caped,  to  christening  and  to  mass. 
Brushing  the  tufted  cotton-grass. 
By  Sleeping  Water. 


And  Landry  turns  his  patient  ear 
To  list  the  sound  he  used  to  hear, 
Jeanne,  carolling  like  a  wood-note  clear 
By  Sleeping  Water. 


Wild  vetch  and  roses  pink  and  large 
Clamber  along  the  grey  sea-marge 
And  peer  into  the  placid  targe 
Of  Sleeping  Water. 

[33] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


But  nevermore  the  lovely  view 
Of  Jeanne^  skirt  lifted  from  the  dew. 
Plucking  the  rose  and  meadow-rue 
By  Sleeping  Water. 

From  Belliveau  to  Pointe  Eglise 
The  little  broom-like  apple-trees 
Are  bent  before  the  sharp  sea-breeze 
By  Sleeping  Water. 


And  Landry,  his  white  hair  afloat, 
Crouching  within  his  tattered  coat. 
Still  watches  for  the  vanished  boat 
By  Sleeping  Water. 


The  trim  sand-pipers  on  the  beach, 
Weeting  and  bowing  each  to  each, 
Pace  up  and  down  the  shingly  reach 
Of  Sleeping  Water. 


**  Wait,  wait,"  they  ever  seem  to  shrill. 
And  Landry  waits  and  hopes  until 
The  Fundy  twilight  settles  chill 
On  Sleeping  Water. 
[34] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


He  hears  the  winged  wild  sea-folk 
With  frenzied  laughter  and  rough  croak 
Scurry  and  scream  around  Grosses-Cocques 
At  Sleeping  Water. 


And  **  Jeanne,  Jeanne,  Jeanne,"  their  pet- 
ulant cry 

By  Sleeping  Water, 
Between  the  tossed  sea  and  the  sky ; 
While  in  the  dark  the  tide  leaps  high 

At  Sleeping  Water. 


All  night  from  loud  St.  Mary's  Bay 
At  Sleeping  Water, 

The  fog  stalks  in,  vast,  silent,  grey; 

All  night  the  shuddering  poplars  pray 
By  Sleeping  Water. 


[35] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


KISMET   AND    THE    KING 


The  king  lay  ill  at  Ispahan 

And   ill   at  rest. 
All  day,  all  night,  his  couriers  ran 
To  fetch  rare  herbs  to  cure  the  man. 

The  king,  oppressed 
By  Allah's  ban  in  Ispahan. 


The  poet  sat  him  at  his  feet 
With  lute  of  gold. 

"  Sing  me  a  song  for  sultan  meet. 

To  hush  me  into  slumber  sweet, 
To  hush  and  hold 

Till  they  return,  my  couriers  fleet.' 


From  Khurasan  the  hot  wind  sped. 

The  hot  simoom: 
"  His  wing  of  flame/'  the  sick  man  said, 
**  The  fiery  Angel  of  the  Dead, 

With  brow  of  gloom. 
Allah,  not  yet,  not  yet !  "  he  said. 
[36] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


The  poet  touched  a  plaintive  string: 

The  days  are  two. 
There  are  two  days,  he  sang,  0  king. 
When  useless  are  the  prayers  we  bring, 

The  deeds  we  do. 
For  lease  of  life,  0  mighty  king. 


First,  on  the  unappointed  day. 

The  day  unset. 
Men  cannot  kill  nor  tempest  slay: 
Yea,  second  on  the  appointed  day 

Of  dread  Kismet 
Not  Allah  great  can  bar  the  way. 


The  Ethiop  waved  a  sleepy  fan 

Above  the  bed; 
Even  at  the  gates  the  couriers  ran. 
With  potent  herbs  to  cure  the  man. 

The  great  king,  dead 
Upon  his  bed  in  Ispahan. 


[87] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


ASGARDA  IN  BAGHDAD 


U  PON  his  silken  rug  the  Caliph  sat, 
Green-turbaned,  drowsy-eyed,  pale-cheeked  and  fat; 
His  favourite  slave  drooped  near  him  on  her  mat. 


Without,  a  copper  sun  had  glared  all  day 

On  empty  streets  shimmering  like  red-hot  clay, 

On  quiet  booth  and  caravanserai. 


No  sound  save  the  cicada's  shrilling  thin; 
Like  heat  made  vocal  seemed  its  feverish  din. 
And  one  lone  Arab  cried  his  water-skin. 


The  Caliph  sighed:    "  But  Baghdad  days  are  hot — 

Asgarda,  fable  me  some  pleasant  spot 

Where  palms  and  springs  are  and  the  sun  shines  not. 


[38] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Her,  years  ago,  the  pampered  Caliph  bought 
From  pirates  who  on  northern  shores  had  fought. 
Whence,  save  her  name,  no  memory  had  she  brought. 


Through  silken  shades  that  shed  a  golden  gloom 
One  dazzling  ray  crept  quivering  through  the  room. 
Striking  Asgarda  and  the  lotos-bloom. 


She  saw  no  more  the  lilies  in  the  jar. 
For  lo !  a  vision  thick  with  many  a  star 
Swept  on  her  from  her  childhood's  days  afar. 


The  look  within  her  eyes  was  blue  like  flame. 
The  Orient  language  to  her  lips  that  came 
The  f  rory  northland  wonders  could  not  name. 


"  I  see  a  place  like  diamond-dust  all  white ; 
Ah,  Caliph  Abdul,  pardon  thou  my  flight, 
But  my  soul  tingles  with  a  strange  delight. 

[39] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


"  My  feet  break  crisply  through  the  ground's  white 

crust ; 
On,  on,  I  go,  like  pilgrim-priests  who  must. 
Tickled  by  many  a  delicate  dagger-thrust 


"  From  winds  that  make  yon  glittering  forest  clank 
Like  armed  men,  and  ranged  in  ghostly  rank 
They  gleam  as  white  as  linen  from  the  tank. 


"  I  reach  a  river  sparkling  with  the  sky. 
Smooth  like  the  floor  where  Dervish  dances  ply. 
Colder  than  marble  slab  where  wine-skins  lie. 


"  Beside  its  brink,  grasses  of  crystal  sheen 
That  clink  and  rattle  when  I  press  between, 
Like  tinkle  of  many  a  beaten  tambourine. 


"  Of  pearls  and  diamonds  here  is  precious  store. 
Such  gems  as  happy  Zobeide  once  wore 
Flung  in  the  opulent  moonshine  of  this  shore. 
[40] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


"  Like  chill  white  wine  from  jewel-studded  bowl 
Yon  moonlight  streams  and,  an  enchanted  goal. 
Slants  its  long  road  and  charms  my  very  soul.** 


She  paused;  no  sound  within  the  place  was  heard. 
Breathless  above  her  hung  the  glistening  Kurd, 
The  Caliph  bent  to  catch  her  murmured  word. 


Her  soul,  a-tremble,  paused  upon  the  wing; 
She  heard  the  breath  of  death  behind  her  sing. 
And  smiling,  cried  she,  in  a  voice  of  spring, 


**  How  wondrously  I  speed,  apace,  apace ! 
Wrapped  in  the  vast  white  arms,  I  race,  I  race ! 
The  large  moon  draws  me  with  her  shining  face. 


"  The  whistling  wind  behind  me  follows  fleet — * 
Here  she  fell  forward  at  the  Caliph's  feet, 
Asgarda,  stricken  by  the  deadly  heat. 

[41] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


A  GIRL   OF   LAZISTAN 


1  WAS  only  a  girl  of  Lazistan. 

In  his  veins  the  blood  of  the  Sun-God  ran. 


He  plucked  me  out  from  the  soil  of  the  street. 
He  called  me  the  rose  of  his  garden  retreat. 


I  was  his  fountain  that  laughed  in  the  sun. 
His  star  that  glittered  when  day  was  done. 


I  was  the  jewel  that  lay  on  his  heart; 

Mine  was  the  shrine  where  he  worshipped  apart. 


I  was  only  a  girl  of  Lazistan. 
In  his  veins  the  blood  of  the  Sun-God  ran, 
[42] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


He  loved  me,  he  kissed  me,  I  lay  on  his  breast; 
I  was  his  bulbul  that  sang  him  to  rest; 


Into  his  arms  I  would  melt  for  repose 

And  he  would  enfold  me  as  leaves  do  the  rose. 


I  was  only  a  girl  of  Lazistan. 

In  his  veins  the  blood  of  the  Sim-God  ran. 


They  came  in  the  midst  of  the  dark  fragrant  night 
And  the  almond-tree  blooms  fluttered  down  in  affright. 


Of  a  sudden  They  swooped,  like  sirocco  They  came 
And  They  blasted  the  flower  of  our  love  as  with  flame. 


Those   purple-clad   Priests,   with   their   arms   waving 

wide. 
Woe,  woe  to  the  follower  their  faith  who  defied. 


For  I  was  a  girl  of  Lazistan. 

In  his  veins  the  blood  of  the  Sun-God  ran. 

[43] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


They  say  the  Eternally  Pure  decree 
Doom  for  lovers  who  loved  as  we. 


For  him  in  the  Tower  of  Silence  a  bed 
And  Parsi  prayers  at  sunrise  said. 


For  me  to  be  hurled  like  refuse  far 
Into  the  river  that  runs  by  Istahr. 


In  an  hour  They  will  come  and  take  me  away. 
Yet  he  loved  me  and  kissed  me  but  yesterday. 


The  Eternally  Pure  have  decreed  in  vain. 
We  care  not,  not  we,  for  death  and  its  pain. 
For  the  souls  become  one  of  two  lovers  slain. 


Even  mine,  a  girl  of  Lazistan 

And  his,  whose  blood  from  the  Sun-God  ran. 


[4.4] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


CAPTAIN    AND    KING 


XjLE  is  my  captain  and  my  king 

In  whom  I  trust. 
Yea,  should  this   earth  and   firmament 

Crumble  to  dust 
Still  might  his  voice  reanimate 

My  mouldering  clay 
And  his  fine  touch  would  lead  me  forth 

To  Realms  of  Day. 


[45] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


THE    POET    MOON 


How  the  palms  tossed  at  Bordighera, 

How  the  grey  olives  blew, 
How  vivid  shone  the  Mediterranean 

'Twixt  shaken  plumes  of  yew! 
Then  those  dim  miles  of  violets. 

The  depth,  the  hue. 

The  scents  that  flew. 
The  shell-pink  villas,  cypress-closes 
And  walls  that  gushed  with  heavy  roses. 


At  twilight  that  fantastic  rock, 

A  castle  by  the  sea, 
And  the  long  flaming  ribboned  west, 

A  road  to  Memory, 
And  that  bright  trembling  crescent  moon^ 

A  poet-thing 

That  seemed  to  sing. 
Inscribing  with  its  fairy  feather 
Lyrics  of  love  and  golden  weather. 

[46] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


ALPINE-GLOW 


i^HEN  all  the  range  is  violet  smoke 
And  all  the  valley  night 
One  peak  swims  like  a  sculptured  isle. 
An  amethyst  of  light. 


It  seems  a  bright  and  visioned  mount 
Upheld  by  cloudy  hands, 

Illumined  by  some  dreamed-of  glow 
That  falls  on  heavenly  lands. 


It  floats  a  neighbour  to  the  stars 
That  glint  the  twilight's  blue; 

Transfigured,   a   Beatitude, 

Like  that  high  thought  of  You. 


[*r\ 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


THE  SLAIN  ONES 


What  of  the  gallant  dead 
Borne  from  the  field? 

Oh,  the  draped  silent  head. 
The  empty  shield! 


Kiss  the  swift  moveless  feet 
That  won  their  goal; 

Crown  the  unseeing  brow, 
Joy  to  that  deathless  soul! 


What  of  the  gallant  hearts 
Slain,  that  live  on. 

Who  eat  their  daily  bread 
When  joy  is  done? 
[48] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Nay,  not  for  them  the  wreath. 

The  bugle's  note; 
Theirs  to  taste  morn  and  night 

The  sword  within  their  throat. 


What  of  the  gallant  hearts 
Slain,  that  must  live? 

God  of  the  Shrouded  Hands, 
Shall  they  forgive? 


[49] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


TWILIGHT    IN    ITALY 


1  HE    Rhaetian   hills   are  blotted  out ;   mist-billows 

wreathe  and  roll; 
A  lamp  shines  at  that  shepherd's  door  like  a  large 

aureole. 


The  good  grey  sheep  come  tinkling  home  unto  that 

shepherd  true, 
And  all  my  wandering  day-thoughts  go  climbing  up 

to  you. 


[50] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


THE  UNATTAINABLE 


Hark,  the  pipes  of  the  upland  blowing  crisp 
On  the  riotous  j  oy  of  the  snow-coloured  Visp ! 
The  freshness  of  ferns  that  drip  in  the  shade 
And  the  long  laughter  of  that  wild  cascade. 


But  high  above  that  shattered  valley  and  the  torn 
Elf-laughter  of  the  Visp  hurled  out  upon  the  morn,- 
Far,  far  above,  against  the  heavenly  blue  upborne. 
The  vastness  and  the  silence  of  the  Balfrinhorn! 
White,  gentle,  terrible,  against  the  blue  upborne. 


Oh,  love,  do  I  forget  one  briefest  space 
The  high  tranquillity  of  your  lone  face? 
I  pray  to  God  to  grant  me  of  His  grace 
One  moment  to  forget  that  star-like  face. 
That  immemorial  forehead  killing  me 
With  yearning  for  the  thing  that  cannot  be. 

[51] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


COMPENSATION 


When  you  that  were  the  light  of  life  went  out 

To  walk  Somewhere  afar. 
There  fell  upon  me  all  the  shapeless  doubt 

Of  night  without  a  star. 


By  day  the  weary  sunlight  seemed  to  flare 

Upon  a  swimming  land; 
By  night  I  kissed  your  bright  pathetic  hair 

And  touched  your  wasted  hand. 


Ever  I  held  you  to  my  breaking  heart. 

Not  as  I  knew  you,  glad, 
But  a  pale  shadow  Death  had  called  apart 

And  with  my  own  grief,  sad. 

[52] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Till,  you  remember,  once  you  came  to  me 
In  the  long  hours  of  night; 

Blue  were  your  eyes  and  smiling  joyfully. 
Your  voice,  the  old  delight. 


Now  often  when  the  house  is  still  I  hear 
Your  hands  upon  the  keys. 

Just  as  you  used  in  many  a  bygone  year. 
Awakening  melodies. 


And  sometimes  when  in  deepest  dreams  I  bide 

Shut  out  from  day's  alarms, 
I  find  a  joy  worth  all  the  world  beside. 

The  heaven  of  your  arms. 


[53] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


THE    PASSIONATE    PILGRIM 


IjOVE,  you  will  not  remember  as  I  do, 

— I  who  remember  all  for  love  of  you, — 

The  glittering  race  of  the  Barberine 

And  its  seven-fold  leap  through  the  dark  ravine. 


Oh,  hurry,  ere  that  heaven  you  seek  be  lost. 
For  rvho  has  heaven  to  gain  counts  not  the  cost. 
The  race  is  perilous  and  there  is  no  sun; 
Who  knows  if  at  the  end  sweet  heaven  be  won? 
He  plunged  unrecking  to  that  last  swift  run; 
Even  so  for  love  of  you  would  I  have  done. 


Perhaps  you  have  forgotten  how  one  day 
The  mists  were  wreathed  illimitably  grey, 
And  how  we  said  no  word,  but  took  our  way 
By  the  embattled  gorge  of  the  loud  Borgne, 
Water-sculptured  and  torrent-torn. 
[54] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


And  the  stern  granite  of  my  life  seemed  wrought 
To  sculptured  grooves  of  anguish  by  the  thought, 
The  steady,  hopeless,  hungry  thought  of  you. 
Forever  and  forever  flowing  through. 


At  eve  we  lifted  up  our  eyes  and  saw 

The  wonder  and  the  splendour  and  the  awe: — 

Rose-purple  sunset  like  a  flaming  tree. 

And  that  last  mystic  glow  on  Veisivi, 

And,  blown  out  like  a  passionate  white  corolla. 

The  shimmering  arcs  of  showery  Arolla. 


Oh,  passionate,  unattainable  white  soul. 
My  prayer,  my  despair,  my  joy,  my  dole. 
My  life,  my  death,  my  after-death-the-Goall 


[55] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


THE  HEART'S  COUNTRY 


JHlLL  people  turn  to  their  hills; 

Sea  folk  are  sick  for  the  sea; 
Thou  art  my  land  and  my  country, 

And  my  heart  calls  out  for  thee. 


The  bird  beats  his  wings  for  the  open, 
The  captive  burns  to  be  free; 

But  I — I  cry  at  thy  window, 
For  thou  art  my  liberty. 


[56] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


THE    MOUNTAIN    GOD 


1  HERE  is  a  mountain  god,  they  say,  who  dwells 
Remote,  untouched  by  prayers  or  temple  bells; 
A  god  irrevocably  who  compels 
The  hidden  fountains  and  the  secret  wells 
Upward  and  outward  from  their  cloistered  cells; 
He  calls  them,  calls  them,  all  the  lustrous  day. 
And  not  one  rippling  child  dare  disobey. 
There  is  a  god  who  dwells  within  your  eyes 
Like  that  veiled  god  of  mountain  mysteries, 
Compelling  all  my  secret  soul  to  rise 
Unto  a  flooded  brim  of  still  surprise. 
Flooded  and  flushed  beneath  the  god*s  great  eyes. 
Beloved,  you  have  called  me  to  the  day. 
And  all  the  fountains  of  my  life  obey. 


[sr]   • 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


THE   PILGRIM   BELL 


The  pilgrim  bell  keeps  calling  me, 

(Patrizio,  Patrizio.) 
And  all  the  folk  are  winding  up 
By  that  steep  path  and  slow. 


From  all  the  little  villages 

Mezzegra,  Azzano, 
And  still  the  bell  keeps  calling  me 

(Patrizio,  Patrizio.) 


Giustina  once  came  calling  me 

(Patrizio,  Patrizio.) 
Her  eyes  were  dark  like  purple  grapes. 

Her  small  face  was  aglow. 
"  Gioj  etta,  run  away,"  I  said. 

I  turned  my  busy  wheel. 
"  The  rich  folk  want  their  olive  wood 

To  shine  like  apple-peel." 
[58] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


I  did  not  even  kiss  her  lips. 
The  sun  is  red  and  low. 

Once  more  to  hear  that  little  voice  J 
(Patrizio,  Patrizio.) 


Santa  Maria  on  the  hill 

You  cannot  succour  me, 
Though  I  should  climb  from  morn  till  night 

To  reach  Mount  Calvary 
And  pray  a  thousand  prayers  before 

Thy  Son  upon  the  tree,  ' 

But  still  the  bell  keeps  calling  out, 

(Arise,  arise  and  go!) 
If  I  could  hear  that  little  voice! 

(Patrizio,  Patrizio.) 


The  pilgrim  bell  keeps  calling  on, 

And  San  Giovanni  too. 
But  San  Martino's  purple  rock 

Yearns  down  into  the  blue. 
The  black  boats  creep  from  shore  to  shore 

From  Crocione's  feet 
To  where  Tremezzo  stretches  out 

Her  plane-tree  tented  street. 
It  is  Giustina's  voice  I  hear, 

[59] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Giojetta  in  the  skies, 
Giojetta,  pleading,  passionate, 

"  Dear  Virgin,  I  arise. 
Peccavi,  yet  there  still  is  time; 

Peccavi,  well  I  know. 
Sweet  bell,  you  are  a  long-lost  voice, 

(Patrizio,  Patrizio.) 


[60] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


THE  COUNTRY  THAT  HE  KNEW 


1  HE  river  was  floored  with  the  sky. 
Pale  clouds  floated  therein. 

The  sad  still  hemlocks  grew  adown, 
And  old  dreams  walked  within. 


Oh,  that  sky  in  the  river  deeper  and  deeper 

Than  the  blue  arch  overhead, 
And  the  grass  in  the  river  that  waits  for  a  reaper. 

Like  folk  who  dream  they  are  dead! 


The  stars  in  the  river  blur  and  quiver 

Miraculously  faint. 
Father,  His  there  that  I  shall  find 

Ease  for  my  long  complaint. 

The  stars  do  not  drown,  far  down,  far  down. 
The  dark  woods  do  not  blow. 

That  flying  bird  no  ripple  stirred. 
Oh,  father,  let  me  go, 
[61] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


It  is  the  country  that  I  knew 
Ere  ever  I  was  born; 

I  cried  for  the  lost  calms  of  it, 
I  dreamed  it  yester-morn. 


My  little  son,  no  land  is  there. 

No  sky,  no  cloud,  no  star. 
Nay,  you  would  never  come  to  it, 

Though  you  should  fall  leagues  far. 


Father,  lean  closer  to  the  edge. 
Or  else  your  eyes  are  blind. 

I  see  two  things  move  movelessly. 
Their  looks  are  deep  and  kind. 


The  ripple  from  our  sliding  keel 
Troubles  their  glassy  faces. 

Look,  how  they  shake  like  candle  flames. 
Blown  to  their  primal  places. 


My  soul  is  that  pale  water-weed 

With  spread  translucent  hands; 

I  swoon  me  downward  to  the  dimness 
Of  those  deep  underlands. 
[62] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


I  bathe  in  the  lost  calms  of  it 
As  on  my  natal  morn. 

For  'tis  the  country  that  I  knew 
Ere  ever  I  was  born. 


[68] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


IN  A  RUINED  ABBEY 


1  HE  moon  blows  toward  the  broken  tower, 

A  winged  sphere  of  fire, 
And  through  the  ivy  over-streaming 

Rose-window,  arch  and  crumbling  choir 
Trembles  the  wind  in  ecstasy 

His  fingers  of  desire. 

Where  lords  and  ladies  long  ago, — 

— Yolande  and  Mordred, — 
Knelt  pale  before  the  crucifix. 

With  bells  upflung  and  incense  shed. 
Now  many  a  pink-tipped  daisy  lifts 

Its  fair  unknowing  head. 

Where  scutcheons  gleamed,  and  lance  and  helm, 

Trophies  of  sacred  fight. 
And  the  great  windows  gloomed  and  glowed 

Like  jewels  dusky-bright — 
The  eternal  hills  look  gravely  through 

These  arches  of  the  night. 
[64] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


A  thousand  memories  walk  tiptoe. 

Sainted,  occult,  unspelt; 
An  elder  time's  envelopment. 

Like  mists  that  blow  and  melt. 
So  we  that  stray  here  hand  in  hand 

Have  on  our  foreheads  dimly  felt 
The  chrysmal  kiss  processional 

Of  Presences  that  knelt. 


The  moon  shakes  at  the  unportalled  door, 

A  sailing  sphere  of  fire; 
The  shadows  lie  all  breathlessly 

Still  as  intense  desire. 
Beloved, — thus  our  hearts  are  hushed 

Yet  mounting  ever  higher. 
Until  they  mix  in  one  clear  note, — 
(Oh,  lyric  heart,  to  sing,  to  float!) 

Heaven-smitten  like  a  lyre. 


[65] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


THE  CURSE  ON  DUNOON 


1  HE  sea  and  the  sand 
Go  hand  in  hand. 
"  I  am  Memory/'  quoth  the  sea, 
"  A  sleepless  mind, 
I  urge,  reiterate." 

"  I  am  Vengeance,"  quoth  the  sand. 
"  Lidless  and  blind, 
I  scourge,  obliterate." 


The  pines  kept  watch  beside  Dunoon; 

They  slanted  toward  the  sea. 
Betwixt  their  plumage  leaned  the  moon. 

Pointed  at  him 

A  finger  slim 
When  stumbling  through  the  twilight  dim 

Came  shapes  and  revelry, 

Faint  footsteps  from  the  sea. 
Soft  thunder  of  the  sliding  sands 

And  footsteps  from  the  sea. 
[66] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


She  blew  across  the  yellow  dune; 

She  came  a  mystery, 
A  vagrant  and  a  nameless  tune. 

Quick  of  the  year 

Hummed  at  his  ear. 
Sap  of  young  leaves,  a  prophet  clear. 

The  pines  cried:  "She  is  yours; 

Ecstacy  that  endures !  " 
The  insistent  sea  sang  in  his  blood; 

The  stars  were  lamps  and  lures. 


She  was  the  witch-light  of  Dunoon, 

Scooped  from  the  sparkling  sea. 
With  hands  like  golden  cups  of  June. 
**0  rainbow  Mary, 

Wild  sea-fairy !  " 
But  spirits  do  not  love  to  tarry. 

She  gave  him  kisses  three. 

Foam  of  the  dying  sea. 
The  dunes  sobbed  all  night  long  for  her; 

The  pines  talked  to  the  sea. 


I  am  the  master  of  Dunoon, 
Dunoon  beside  the  sea. 
(Vision  of  Mary 
Tarry!   tarry!) 

[67] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Death  comes  to  take  me — ^none  too  soon! 

Cursed  be  my  lands 

If  any  hands 
Cut  down  the  wood  beside  the  sands 

Where  Mary  came  to  me." 

The  sands  heard  and  the  sea. 
Soft  thunder  of  the  sliding  sands 

And  footsteps  from  the  sea. 


The  sea  and  the  sand 

Go  hand  in  hand; 

"  I  am  Memory/'  quoth  the  sea, 

*'  A  sleepless  mind, 

I  urge,  reiterate." 

"  I  am  Vengeance/'  quoth  the  sand, 

"  Lidless  and  blind, 

I  scourge,  obliterate/* 


He  died,  and  still  the  pine  trees  stood 
Communing  with  the  sea. 

Till  stranger  folk  struck  down  the  wood. 
Then  the  slow  sands 
Reached  forth  their  hands. 

Crawled  up  along  the  wasted  lands; 

[68] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Also  in  memory- 
Muttered  the  grey-lipped  sea. 
Soft  thunder  of  the  sliding  sands 
And  long  wash  of  the  sea. 


The  blind  dunes  quenched  the  springing  land; 

The  strong  remembering  sea 
Followed  the  lithe  heels  of  the  sand. 

The  limpets  spawn 

Where  years  agone, 
Her  bright  feet  rippled  up  the  lawn; 

Meagre  crustaceans  crook 

Through  every  oozy  nook. 
And  where  she  danced  between  the  doors 

Pale  polyps  peer  and  look. 


The  sea  and  the  sand 

Go  hand  in  hand; 

**  I  am  Memory/*  quoth  the  sea, 

**A  sleepless  mind, 

I  urge,  reiterate.** 

"  I  am  Vengeance,"  quoth  the  sand, 

**  Lidless  and  blind, 

I  scourge,  obliterate.** 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


WE    WERE    LOVERS 
(Having  neither  beginning  of  Days  nor  end  of  Life.) 


In   the    dark   unwritten    ages   innocent   of  time  and 
being, 
When  a  million  voiceless  aeons 
Flashed  and  perished  like  the  fireflies 
Spangling  a  brief  summer  dusk. 
In  those  dim  and  elder  ages^  you  and  I  were  boon 
companions. 
We  were  elements  that  mingled  marvellously 
In   the   dark   unwritten   ages   innocent   of   time   and 
being. 


I  was  blown  a  nebulous  vapour,  giant  wraith  of  wraths 

terrific 
At  the  birth-hour  of  an  ancient  unimaginable  nomad; 
You  the  lightnings  at  my  centre, 
Rosy  heat  and  lambent  dartings. 
Treading  out  my  mirky  vintage  joyously, 
At  the  birth-hour  of  an  ancient  unimaginable  nomad. 
[70] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


You  were  once  that  luminous  body 
Born  of  blazing  revolutions   of  uncounted  speeding 
cycles. 

Swift,  centrifugal,  amazing. 
Shot  from  brightness  to  the  blackness  of  adventurous 

infinity ; 
I  the  meteor  flaming  after  by  inevitable  sequence, 

Ripping  the  astonished  ether 

With  my  savage,  slashing  sword-track, 

Swift,  centrifugal,  amazing. 


When  the  morning  stars  had  voices. 
And  the  round  rim  of  the  heaven  tenantless  of  flying 
creatures. 
Peered  above  the  primal  ocean. 
When   the   troubled    waters   lifted,   chanting   greatly 

their  unease, — 
Heaving,  tossing,  curling  ever  round  the  vast  vague 
of  the  planet, 
I  a  wave  that  sought  forever; 
You  the  sweet  and  powdered  starlight. 
Light  white  foam  upon  my  forehead. 
Following  my  swinging  footsteps  laughingly 
Through  the  large  unmeasured  spaces 
Of  the  blind  tormented  darkness. 
When   the   troubled   waters   lifted,   chanting   greatly 
their  unease. 

[71] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Or  when  motion  was  extinguished, 
You  the  moon  were  sculptured  shield-like. 
Unattainable  wild  white  heraldry 
On  the  swept  blue  fainting  midnight; 

I,   the    tide   that   knelt   and   trembled/  climbed    and 
shuddered,  falling  backward. 

Calling  to  you  in  my  anguish  till  you  pitied  me  and 
calmed  me. 
Melted  me  to  lucent  wonder. 
In  the  swept  blue  fainting  midnight. 


I   remember,  too,  the  twilights  when  you  wore  the 
young  moon's  crescent. 
And  you  lay  within  my  bosom  delicately. 
I  remember,  too,  the  twilights. 


Then  from  out  its  mothering  whirlwinds. 
Seethe  and  swirl  of  coiling  chaos, 
The  primeval  earth  grew  conscious  of  the  sun*s  first 

dreadful  dawning; 
I,  the  sullen  mist  that  slumbered  on  the  cold  mouth 
of  the  marshes; 
You  the  beam  that  drew  me  upward 
Till  I  shared  your  solar  splendours, 

[72] 


PART    ONE:    THE    UNATTAINABLE 


Far  above  the  virginal  shining  peaks  of  continents, 
Far  above  and  drenched  with  gladness; 
Far  above  and  drenched  with  gladness   speech- 
lessly. 
We  were  elements  that  mingled  marvellously. 


[78] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


SLEEPING   ERINNYS 


1  AM  Erinnys.    Pity  me.     I  lie  asleep 
And  all  the  sins  of  all  the  world 
Within  my  heart  I  keep. 


She  is  Erinnys,     Pity  her.     How  wan  her  sleep. 
For  still  across  her  dreams 
A  cry  for  justice  streams 
And  the  tall  spear  is  whirled. 


Some  sin  and  smite  and  laugh.     Some  quench  the 
hearth-fire's  ember. 

These  may  forget  and  pass.     I  follow  and  remember. 

I  am  Erinnys.     Pity  me.     My  cheeks  are  always  wet 

And  my  hair  wild  with  haste,  I  who  would  fain  for- 
get. 

My  sisters  of  the  joyous  birth,  you  Nectar-Bearing 
Sweet, 

You,  Crescent-Crowned  beside  the  spring,  you  of  the 
Silver  Feet, — 

[77] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


Give  me  one  bright  Olympian  hour,  one  golden  cup 

to  ken, 
Or  sleep  unvisited  by  dreams  of  dooms  of  sinning 

men. 
O    kings    and    mighty    conquerors,    lay    down    your 

dripping  sword! 
My  scourge  shall  goad  you  to  the  place  where  no  man 

calls  you  lord. 
O  all  ye  fateful  lovers  desiring  over-much. 
Who  win  a  flaming  kiss,  it  is  my  torch  you  touch. 
Listen,    'tis    their    remorse    unborn    that    haunts    my 

tongue. 
Because,  though  sinless,  I  have  fled  since  time  was 

young, 
With  wastrels,  wantons,  all  the  May-Day  throng, — 
Therefore  I  am  unutterably  wrung. 


She  is  the  goddess  in  whose  noble  eyes 

The  unendurable  accusation  lies 

That  rends  the  secret  heart  of  such  as  thou. 


Yea,  this  heart-breaking  eloquence  of  her  look 
Is  for  the  tears  that  men  have  scorned  to  shed 
And  the  atonement  falls  upon  her  head. 

[78] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


See  the  spent  lines,  th^  darkness  on  her  brow. 

The  stricken  beauty  of  her  lips. 

Perhaps  thou  art  the  sinner  whom  she  strips; 


I  am  Erinnys  of  the  lifted  snake 
And  the  unsilenced  mouth. 
I  listen^  follow,  follow,  overtake. 
It  is  not  mine  to  waver  or  delay. 
I  listen,  follow,  follow,  overtake. 
And  at  the  end  I  slay. 


[79] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


THE    FUGITIVES 


W  E  are  they  that  go,  that  ^o, 
Plunging  before  the  hidden  blow. 
We  run  the  byways  of  the  earth. 
For  we  are  fugitive  from  birth. 
Blindfolded,  with  wide  hands  abroad 
That  sow,  that  sow  the  sullen  sod. 


We  cannot  wait,  we  cannot  stop 
For  flushing  field  or  quickened  crop; 
The  orange  bow  of  dusky  dawn 
Glimmers  our  smoking  swathe  upon; 
Blindfolded  still  we  hurry  on. 


How  do  we  know  the  ways  we  run 
That  are  blindfolded  from  the  sun? 
We  stagger  swiftly  to  the  call. 
Our  wide  hands  feeling  for  the  wall. 
[80] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


Oh,  ye  who  climb  to  some  clear  heaven 
By  grace  of  day  and  leisure  given. 
Pity  us,  fugitive  and  driven — 
The  lithe  whip  curling  on  our  track, 
The  headlong  haste  that  looks  not  back! 


[81] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


A  CHALLENGE 
(In  Beauchamp  Chapel) 


Here  do  they  lie,  like  mute  engraven  psalms. 
Crossed  feet  and  smiling  lips  and  folded  palms. 
Where  travellers  pass  or  pause  and  muse 
awhile. 
Struck  to  the  heart  by  the  remorseless  calms 

Of  those  draped  feet,  that  still  unsmiling 
smile. 

A  thousand  springs  have  leaped  to  tender  flame, 
The  years  have  wheeled  to  centuries  since  they  came. 

Dead,  proud  and  smiling  to  their  stone  repose. 
What  do  they  reck  of  youth,  or  love,  or  shame. 

Or  the  red  heart  of  yonder  English  rose? 

Death,  it  can  never  be  that  as  they  lie. 
So  shall  this  eager  passionate  burning  I, 

Thrilled  through  and  through  with  life's 
magnificence. 
Drunk  with  my  birthright,  stung  with  ecstasy; 

Death,  I'll  have  none  of  thy  vast  insolence! 
[82] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


AS  A  LITTLE  CHILD 


I  REMEMBER  my  cry  at  the  cardinal  flower 

When  I  first  found  its  hidden  place ; 
I  remember  the  streamers  of  northern  lights, 

I,  awake  in  my  bed  one  hour; 
I  remember  the  look  on  my  father's  face 

When  I  did  a  childish  wrong; 
I  remember  my  first  loneliness. 

How  the  hours  were  long,  were  long ; 
I  remember  the  touch  of  my  mother's  shawl 

As  it  hung  on  the  closet  door. 

And  the  loving  folds  it  wore ; 
I  remember  a  toy  in  the  baby's  hand 

When  he  fell  asleep  and  smiled. 
This  is  the  prayer  I  pray  to-night. 

Not  for  joy  or  a  life  undefiled. 
But  that  always  the  simple  things  may  come 
Thus  to  thrill  my  heart,  to  burst  my  heart. 

As  they  did  to  the  little  child. 


[88] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


FORERUNNERS 


IN  the  first  sleep-watch  of  the  night 
With  dreams  that  flit  and  hesitate, 
Hark  for  the  tokens  of  our  flight, 
Lost  voices  seeking  each  his  mate : 

A  hurrying  step  along  the  road, 

A  knock,  a  cry,  but  only  one. 

**  Nay,  heed  them  not  for  they  shall  be 

Forgotten  with  the  morning  sun." 

These  are  the  tokens  of  our  flight; 
We,  nameless  ones  who  go  before. 
Who  stop  to  call  a  comrade  soul 
But  find  no  latch  at  any  door. 


That  drifting  smoke  across  the  plain, 
That  footfall  fading  by  the  sea. 
Perchance  our  camp  fires  dying  out. 
Our  passionate  steps  no  more  to  be. 
[84] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


The  vagrant  red  of  autumn  leaf. 
The  haunting  echo  and  its  grief. 
Luring  you  on  from  hill  to  hill. 
The  vagrant  red,  the  wandering  sigh. 
It  is  the  life-blood  that  we  spill. 


Yet  we  are  nameless  before  God ; 
We  have  nor  grave  nor  epitaph; 
And  where  we  perished  of  our  thirst. 
Yea,  where  there  was  no  drop  to  quaff, 
A  spring  shall  gush  from  our  dead  bones 
And  full-fed  ones  sit  down  and  laugh. 


[85] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


THE   RAILWAY  YARD 


Into  the  blackness  they  grind 

With  ever  slackening  speed 

And  out  to  the  widening  light 

With  the  thunder  of  valves  that  are  freed. 

Myriad  headlights, 

Green  lights  and  red  lights, 

A  tangle  of  sparks  and  of  darks ; 

A  thousand  lives  and  a  thousand  souls 

Poured  out  to  the  city's  blend; 

A  thousand  lives  and  a  thousand  souls 

Sped  forth  to  their  journey's  end. 

O,  neighbour,  what  is  the  end  you  seeJc? 

There  is  none  to  reply  though  the  dead  should 
speak. 


Click  of  a  switch,  a  lever's  turn, 
The  clang  of  the  opened  gate. 
Has  the  hour  struck?    Will  the  train  be  late? 
One  prays  to  his  God  and  one  curses  his  fate. 
[86] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


The  lover  smiles  as  he  touches  her  hand,- 
And  the  outgoing  passengers  wait. 
It  is  only  two  who  thread  the  throng. 
A  thousand  lives  and  a  thousand  souls 
Pass  by  and  hurry  along. 


There  are  some  who  stand  and  never  go 
When  the  porter  opens  the  gate: 
**  Good-bye,  good-bye,  come  back  to  us  soon !  " 
Their  heart  is  sick  with  the  merciless  tune : 
Whoot,  whoot,  hough-hough,  zig-zig  and  away. 
To-morrow  we  follow  but  never  to-day. 


A  thousand  lives  and  a  thousand  souls 

Who  have  cast  their  lot  together ; 

And  some  set  out  for  a  whole  new  life 

And  some  for  a  change  of  weather ; 

For  a  dance  or  for  death. 

Yet  they  sit  and  they  sleep, 

Or  they  stare  at  the  engine's  curling  breath ; 

They  sigh  or  they  smile 

At  each  vanishing  mile. 

O,  soul,  give  your  neighbour  greeting! 

[87] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


But  faces  are  clouds 

Like  the  flashing  trees 

And  the  dizzy  houses  retreating. 

They  are  running  a  race,  though  they  know  it  not. 

With  a  thousand  lives  that  have  gone  before; 

And  a  thousand  souls  with  a  thousand  goals 

Must  press  through  a  single  door. 

O,  neighbour,  think,  as  the  drive-wheel  spins. 
Of  the  gutted  lamps  and  the  torch-like  sins. 
Of  the  babes  unborn  and  the  yarvning  gins! 
What  is  the  crown  and  who  is  it  that  wins? 


[88] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE    HOUSE    TO    HIS    FIRST    MISTRESS 

A.    L.    W. 


Across  my  threshold  they  have  gone. 

Many  the  steps  and  sweet. 
But  yours  alone  that  I  love  best 

Is  the  rhythm  I  repeat, 
From  days  when  you  and  I  were  young 

And  autumn  flamed  along  the  street. 
Remembered  trailings  of  your  skirt 

And  hauntings  of  your  feet. 


The  generations  come  and  go 

And  I  have  held  them  dear: 
Between  the  lattice  and  the  hearth 

They  dance  and  disappear, 
But  echoing  through  their  songs  at  night 

It  is  your  voice  I  hear 
That  knew  me  when  I  was  unknown, 
Conceived  me  out  of  dust  and  stone, 

And  loved  me  in  that  bygone  year. 

[89] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


I  took  you  to  my  lonely  arms, 

You  were  the  soul  of  me; 
There  was  no  speech  between  uiS  twain. 

There  needed  not  to  be ; 
Your  watchful  nights  were  mine,  were  mine. 

And  mine  your  minstrelsy. 
Your  seal  upon  my  forehead  is. 

Forever  still  to  be. 


Forever  with  the  wheeling  heavens 

When  the  year  begins  to  wane, 
— The  falling  leaf,  the  golden  tree. 

The  melody  of  rain — 
Lo,  you  shall  dip  between  my  doors 

Or  glorify  my  pane. 
Singing  that  first  old  joy  in  me. 

The  vision  of  your  brain. 
That  I  may  reach  remembering  hands 

To  greet  you  home  again. 


[90] 


PART     TWO:    FUGITIVES 


IT  IS  OUR  SIN  TO  HAVE  REMEMBERED 


If  this  were  my  last  hour  on  earth 

And  I  might  speak  with  thee, 
"  Friend/'  I  would  say,  "  after  my  death. 

Think  gentle  thoughts  of  me; 
For  thou,  of  all  the  friends  I  had. 

Pierced  deepest  in  my  side. 
Teaching  me  love  as  high  as  heaven, 

(Thy  love  so  soon  that  died) 
Teaching  me  love  as  high  as  heaven. 

Mine  to  abide. 


Therefore  when  I  am  in  my  grave 

Think  gentle  thoughts  of  me; 
Forgive  that  poor  unconquered  fault, 

That  love  denied  by  thee." 
For  they  who  rob  us  of  our  hearts 

Forgive  us  not. 
It  is  our  sin  to  have  remembered 

When  they — forgot. 

[91] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE    PAST 


I  WENT  into  a  shadowy  land 

Seeking  Myself. 
I  met  and  seized  one  by  the  hand^ 

"  Thou  art  Myself." 

"  Thou  hast  my  hair,  my  lips,  my  eyes. 

The  look  I  wore." 
She  answered  in  disdainful  wise, 

"  Thyself,  no  more." 

"  Strange  ways   you   go,   strange  cups   you 
drink, 

Withheld  from  me. 
Mysterious  are  the  thoughts  you  think, 

I  know  not  thee." 

So  she  that  was  Myself  withdrew 

Into  the  night; 
Coldly  the  fog-wind  rose  and  blew 

And  blurred  my  sight. 

[92] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


RECOGNITION 


1  HE  Earth  lay  dark  as  some  closed  book, 
Featureless,  shrouded  wholly. 
And  melancholy. 
While  far  above  her  vainly  shook 
The  dumb  Sky's  passionate  downward  look. 


Then  the  swift  lightning  flashed  between. 
Fearful  as  Joy's  first  cry. 
And  Earth  and  Sky 

Each  saw  the  other  in  that  keen 

White  marvellous  moment's  leap  and  sheen. 


Thus  we,  beloved,  yearning,  not  aware. 
Till  suddenly  there  came 
The  look  of  flame 
And  in  that  instant's  vision  rare 
Each  knew  the  other's  soul  laid  bare. 
[93] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


A  SINGLE  MIND 


JrlOW  the  ship  strains  and  struggles, 
Leaps  through  the  mirk  of  night. 

How  the  fierce  ocean  springs  to  oppose. 
Flings  up  its  breast  in  fight. 


Steady  the  ship  swings  onward. 
Disdainful,  deaf,  amort 

Save  for  its  one  vast  passion. 
To  port,  to  port,  to  port! 


Buffeted,  smothered,  blinded. 

Ploughs  through  the  storm  my  soul. 

Obstreperous  circumstance 
Betwixt  me  and  my  goal. 

Thick  darkness  is  upon  me, 
Huge  elements  that  thwart; 

Steady,  my  soul,  ride  onward. 
And  mayst  thou  win  the  port! 
[94] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE   SUPREME   FORGIVENESS 


IHEY  have  forgiven  me,  these  that  I  have  wronged. 

While  you  still  mindful  are. 
Because  that  I  have  suffered  wrong  from  you, 

Therefore  you  stand  afar. 
Yet  I  do  not  accuse  at  all,  my  love. 

Nay,  Mercy  cry. 
They  that  love  least,  they  hurt  the  most. 

(God,  that  through  them  we  die!) 


[95] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE    SORROWFUL    STREAM 


In  the  Land  of  Life  it  floweth  and  floweth. 

The  Sorrowful  Stream, 
And  through  its  waters  each  mortal  goeth. 

However  he  dream 
He  will  never  reach  the  pitiless  beach 

Of  the  Sorrowful  Stream. 


There  are  some  and  the  waters  but  lap  their  feet 

Of  the  Sorrowful  Stream, 
And  some,  'gainst  whose  breast  the  billows  beat 

And  the  foam-crests  gleam, 
And  others  there  be,  like  wrecks  of  the  sea. 

Washed  away  by  the  Sorrowful  Stream. 


[96] 


^T^HE  exquisite  new  romantic  novel 
by  the  author  of 

MONSIEUR  BEAUCAIRE 

THE  TWO  VANREVELS 

THE  CONQUEST  OF  CANAAN 


The  Guest 
of  Quesnay 

By 

Booth 
Tarkington 


T 


HIS  enchanting  love-romance  will 
gain  the  full  measure  of  success  which 
greeted  the  beautiful  **Beaucaire,'* 
and  it  well  deserves  the  place  at  the 
head  of  all  of  Mr.  Tarkington' s  stor- 
ies. The  scene  is  laid  in  the  little 
Norman  village  of  Quesnay,  where, 
at  the  fascinating  inn  of  the  **Three 
Pigeons,"   the    * 'riotously   beautiful" 


Mr.  Olive  Saffren  meets  and  falls  in 
love  with  the  charming  American 
widow,  Mrs.  Harlan.  It  is  a  strange 
and  beautiful  love-story  that  is  told  of 
these  two,  surrounded  as  it  is  by  an 
atmosphere  of  sylvan  sentiment  and 
romance  that  brings  irresistibly  to  mind 
the  pastoral  play,  *  *  As  You  Like  It. ' ' 
The  story  is  certain  to  produce  a  pro- 
found impression  upon  the  host  of  the 
author' s  readers  and  admirers,  and  to 
enhance  still  further  Mr.  Tarking- 
ton's  splendid  reputation. 


With  frontispiece  in  color  and  illustrations 

by  Walter  J.  Duncan 

$1.50 


THE  McCLURE  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THEOPHANY 


I  HAVE  found,  I  have  found,  a  supremest  delight. 
And  my  spirit  is  stirred  and  the  tranquil  waters, 

O  blest  of  men's  daughters. 
All  my  future  I  know  will  be  holy  and  bright. 


Long  was  I  alone  nor  did  I  repine. 

For  I  said:  "  It  is  better,  my  heart,  to  be  quiet! 

But  sweet  is  love's  riot 
And  dark  was  my  life  till  it  flowed  into  thine. 


[97] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


THE    VAIN    PRINCE 


Vy  HOM    once  the  purple  prince  crowned  with  his 
roses 

Latterly  he  counts  least; 
Ineffaceable  autographs  or  relentless  mirrors, — 

They  chronicle  the  ages  since  that  feast. 


[98] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE  WEDDING  GUEST 


1  EA,  I  am  he  that  cometh  to  the  feast, 

.  Newborn  that  night; 
Naked,  unblessed,  unbidden  by  the  priest. 
Tall  as  high  heaven,  yet  littler  than  the  least. 


My  footstep  trembles  down  the  waving  chord. 

Floats  in  the  rose, 
So  even  they  that  laugh  across  the  board 
By  the  averted  lid  salute  me  lord. 


Lo,  they  refuse  to  look  me  in  the  eye. 

To  touch  my  hand, 
Yet  in  the  space  'twixt  question  and  reply 
The  silence  of  my  mouth  shall  make  outcry. 


I  stand  far  off,  fearing  the  dusty  ways 
These  two  may  tread ; 

[99] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


Natheless,  between  the  altar  and  the  aisles^ 
They  hear  my  sob  under  a  sea  of  smiles. 


Fair  is  the  face  of  Paradise,  pathetically  sweet. 
Yet  fourfold  swifter  otherwhere  travel  the  questing 
feet. 


[100] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


INTROSPECT 


JVlY  window  looks  upon  the  night. 

The  pine  woods  and  the  cloister-gloom. 
Her  window  looks  upon  the  light, 
And  violet  peaks  of  prospect  bright 
And  miles  of  meadow  bloom. 


At  noon  I  hear  unending  beat 

Of  solemn  breakers  on  the  shore, 
And  know  that  round  her  high  retreat 
The  rapturous  thrush  is  carolling  sweet 
His  golden  /  adore. 


Betwixt  my  trees  in  afternoon. 

The  silent  shadows  stand. 
Watching  for  night  that  falls  too  soon, 
— The  night  that  falls  without  a  moon,- 

To  crouch  at  my  right  hand. 
[101] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


Once  at  my  bidding  did  they  come. 

Once — but  long  time  ago. 
Listed  my  voice — now  I  am  dumb 
The  while  I  hear  their  phantom  hum 
And  flitting  to  and  fro. 


I  sit  and  stare  behind  my  pane 

Into  the  spectral  mist, 
Dimly  desiring  to  attain 
Beyond,  above    my  sullen  plain 
Her  window,  glory-kissed. 


[102] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE    DYING   CHILD 


1  CAN  see  the  trees  of  heaven 
Arid  their  branches  drip  with  dew. 

But  the  River  of  Death  is  blacker  than  ice, 
O  mother,  I  cannot  pass  through. 

I  can  see  the  smiling  angels. 

I  want  to  fold  my  face  within  their  skirts. 

But  the  River  of  Death  strangles  my  breath. 
O  mother,  I  cannot  swim  through 
Alone,  without  you,  without  you! 


[103] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE  UNREMEMBERED 
(Fragments   of  a  Lost  Memory) 


Where  have  they  gone,  the  unremembered  things. 

The  hours,  the  faces, 
The  trumpet-call,  the  wild  boughs  of  white  spring? 
Would  I  might  pluck  you  from  forbidden  spaces. 
All  ye,  the  vanished  tenants  of  my  places ! 


Stay  but  one  moment,  speak  that  I  may  hear, 

Swift  passer-by! 
The  wind  of  your  strange  garments  in  my  ear 
Catches  the  heart  like  a  beloved  cry 
From  lips,  alas,  forgotten  utterly. 


An  odour  haunts,  a  colour  in  the  mesh, 

A  step  that  mounts  the  stair; 
Come  to  me,  I  would  touch  your  living  flesh — 
Look  how  they  disappear,  ah,  where,  ah,  where? 
Because  I  name  them  not,  deaf  to  my  prayer. 
[104] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


If  I  could  only  call  them  as  I  used. 

Each  by  his  name! 
That  violin — what  ancient  voice  that  mused! 
Yon  is  the  hill,  I  see  the  beacon  flame. 
My  feet  have  found  the  road  where  once  I  came. 
Quick! — but  again  the  dark^  darkness  and  shame. 


[105] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


AFTER    VICTORY 


(jrRANT  me  strength  to  face  my  conquered; 

Teach  me  the  smile  of  pride; 
Give  me  patient  endurance 

For  my  deeds  that  are  glorified; 
But  after  the  splendour  sweeps  past, 

One  little  hour  to  abide 
Alone  and  in  darkness  at  last 

With  the  simple  joys  that  have  died. 


[106] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


BEYOND    THE    SPECTRUM 


W  E  cannot  look  beyond 
The  spectrum's  mystic  bar. 
Beyond  the  violet  light 
Yea,  other  lights  there  are 
And  waves  that  touch  us  not 
Voyaging  far. 

Vast  ordered  forces  whirl. 

Invisible,  unfelt, 

Their  language  less  than  sound. 

Their  name  unspelt. 

Suns  cannot  brighten  them 

Nor  white  heat  melt. 


We  chip  an  eye-hole  through, 
(Swedenborg,  Roentgen,  Hertz,) 
Into  that  walled  land. 
Glimpsed  as  by  candle-spurts. 
Our  naked  ignorance 
It  hurts,  it  hurts ! 

[107] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


Or,  in  the  clammy  dark 
We  dig,  as  dwarfs  for  coal. 
Yet  one  Mind  fashioned  it 
And  Us,  a  luminous  whole. 
As  lastly,  thou  shalt  see. 
Thou,  O  my  soul. 


[108] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE  CHILD  THAT  ONCE  YOU  WERE 


O   HOPELESS  face  of  middle-age, 

0  disappointed  eyes. 
And  lips  of  cold  finality, 

What  sad  soul  stalks  behind  that  cage. 
Those  stern  bars  of  mortality? 

1  saw  the  child  that  once  you  were 
Flit  to  your  look  one  day, 

A  tender  boyhood  just  beginning, — 
And  my  quick  throat  rose  sharp  with  tears 
To  think  of  all  the  sodden  years 

Since  then,  and  all  the  sinning. 
The  trusting  child  that  once  you  were. 

Not  wholly  drugged  to  sleep! 
And  all  these  dreadful  spades  of  earth 

To  bury  you  more  deep. 


[109] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


THE  DIARY 


What  matters  it  on  such  or  such  a  date 

What  did  betide? 
We  have  the  present  glory;  what  is  worth 

Aught  else  beside? 


**  Nay,"  said  the  other,  "  when  we  read  this  page 

Some  future  day. 
The  old  forgotten  joy  will  be  renewed: 

Ah,  who  can  say?  " 


But  we  so  altered  by  the  lapse  of  time. 

It  will  seem  vain; 
This  brook  song  and  those  tender  words  we  spoke,- 

An  idle  strain. 


**  Nay,**  said  the  other,  "  if  this  golden  hour 

We  do  enshrine. 
Long  afterward  'twill  walk  like  morning  with  us, 
-  Our  youth  divine.** 
[110] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


HEIMWEH 


JVlY  soul  cries  out  with  longing 
For  that  dear  house  my  home; 

It  crowns  the  end  of  every  way 
Down  which  I  roam. 


It  hath  a  portal  open 

Unto  the  happy  sun, 
And  casements  star-embroidered 

When  day  is  done. 


And  best  of  all  and  fairest, 
Serenely  set  apart, 

I  see  Her  waiting  for  me. 
The  woman  of  my  heart. 


Her  hands  are  made  for  loving. 
Her  lips  for  stainless  truth. 

And  her  clear  eyes  are  beautiful 
With  changeless  youth. 

[Ill] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


My  soul  cries  out  with  longing 
For  that  dear  house  my  home; 

It  crowns  the  end  of  every  way 
Down  which  I  roam. 


Yet  have  I  never  found  it. 
Though  still  it  beckons  me 

With  sweet  and  poignant  promise 
Of  what  shall  be. 


[112] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


THE   ELDEST   BORN 


I  WAS  a  little  baby,  dead 

That  earthly  morn; 
They  gave  me  a  white  rose  to  keep; 
They  sang:     "  It  is  not  death  but  sleep. 
She  cried:  "My  eldest  born!" 


I  was  a  little  spirit  then 

Reaching  to  God; 
An  eager  ignorant  upward  flame, 
Cleaving  the  darkness  whence  I  came. 

Tiptoe  above  the  clod. 


She  cried:     **  The  feet  that  I  have  kissed 

Cold  in  the  grave; 
The  shut  mouth  and  the  eyelids  dim — 
O  God,  the  marble  look  of  him !  " 

I,  at  heaven's  architrave, 

[113] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


Trembled  but  shrilled  aloud,  "  I  come, 
O  Christ,  my  brother." 

The  Beautiful  leaned  down  and  smiled; 

"  Go  back  to  earth,  thou  little  child. 

And  comfort  thy  sad  mother. 


**  For  when  in  dreams  thou  hover  est  near. 

Gladdening  her  eyes, 
A  glimpse  of  heaven  she  shall  obtain. 
And  drinking  of  her  cup  of  pain. 

Thyself  shalt  be  made  wi«e.** 


Time  washes  up  along  our  shore, 

A  vast  calm  sea; 
And  I  have  learned  the  weight  of  tears. 
Sin's  colour  and  the  length  of  years. 

The  stir  of  things  to  be. 


My  brothers  win  the  earthly  goal 

With  toil  and  stress; 
Gone  is  their  infancy  divine 
And  on  their  brows  is  writ  the  sign 
Of  earth's  forgetfulness. 
[114] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


But  God's  large  moments  have  made  room 

Even  for  this^ 
That  all  unguessed  of  them,  unseen. 
Like  a  slim  flower  I  wave  between 

And  meet  my  mother's  kiss. 


She  folds  me  to  her  lonely  heart 

At  grey  of  morn; 
A  little  child  I  am  to  her, 
As  in  those  wondrous  days  that  were, 

A  babe,  her  eldest-born. 


[115] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE    DREAM-CHILD 


Oh,  the  Dream-Child,  the  Dream-Child, 

That  never  yet  has  been! 
He  creeps  into  her  bosom 

When  winter  nights  are  keen. 


Her  mouth  upon  his  eyes,  his  hair; 

"  Sweet,  how  I  worship  thee !  '* 
Oh,  the  Dream-Child,  the  Dream-Child, 

God!  that  shall  never  be. 


Last  night  she  heard  him  wailing 

Out  in  the  sleety  din, 
"  All  little  babes  are  warm  in  bed. 

Dear  mother,  let  me  in ! " 


She  opened  wide  her  empty  arms: 
"  Creep  close  into  thy  nest. 

Look,  I  will  warm  thy  hands,  thy  feet. 
Thy  lips  upon  my  breast." 
[116] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


Yet  still  she  hears  him  wailing, 
"  Dear  mother,  let  me  in. 

All  little  babes  are  warm  in  bed- 
God,  is  it  not  thy  sin 


To  let  the  Dream-Child  wander 
A  poor  forbidden  guest; 

The  barren  mother  wait  and  wait 
With  passion  at  her  breast? 


[117] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE    SOLITARY 


(jrOD  said  unto  the  soul; 
Go  thou  thy  way  alone 
And  make  no  moan. 


The  cup  of  comradery 
Is  not  for  thee. 


Nor  memory's  golden  sheaf 
Of  loves  too  brief; 


Nor  tears  of  sorrow  shed 
Above  thy  dead; 


A  pale  impersonal  strife 
Thine  outward  life; 
[118] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


Within,  thy  bosom  torn 
By  thoughts  unborn. 


The  soul  said  unto  God: 
Nay,  give  me  joy  and  woe; 
'Tis  better  so. 


The  seal  of  commonplace 
Upon  my  face; 


No  seething  strange  unrest 
Within  my  breast^ 


But  a  dear  hand  to  hold 
As  I  grow  old. 


God  said  unto  the  soul: 
This  is  the  common  lot. 
Thy  portion  not. 

[119] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


What  life  and  loving  are 
Know  thou  afar. 


Events  beside  thy  door 
Shall  pause  no  more 


Than  once  to  give  thee  cry 
And  hurry  by. 


The  soul  said  unto  God: 

And  how.  Lord,  wilt  thou  bless 

My  loneliness? 


God  said  unto  the  soul: 
I  will  anoint  thine  eyes 
To  make  thee  wise. 


Thy  vision  shall  be  keen 
Of  things  unseen, 
[120] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


That  even  as  thou  dost  brood 
In  solitude^ 


This  marvellous  inner  sense 
Shall  recompense; 


Joys  thou  hast  never  had 
Shall  make  thee  glad. 


And  love  that  is  not  thine 
Thy  heart  entwine. 


[121] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


THEY  THAT  STAND  ON  THE   EDGE 


We  stand  on  the  edge  of  your  kingdom. 

Looking  in,  looking  in. 
You  lean  to  us  out  of  your  gardens, 

"  Behold,  it  is  pleasant  within !  '* 


You  nod  to  us  out  of  your  palace: 
"  Behold  the  work  of  our  hands. 

Mosaic  and  marble  and  statue, 
And  beauty  from  many  lands !  " 


Like  children  who  call  to  the  beggars: 
*'  O  tarry  and  see  us  play !  " 

But  where  shall  they  go  at  supper-time. 
Beggars,  at  close  of  the  day? 


We  stand  on  the  edge  of  glory 
When  the  golden  banners  wave. 

Oh,  to  be  one  of  the  victors, 
Or  dead  in  a  glorious  grave! 
[122] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


To  the  road  again,  ye  failers. 

The  hour  and  the  power  have  flown. 

Go  search  for  your  own  lost  kingdom. 
The  song  and  the  sword  and  the  throne. 


We  linger,  heart-sick  and  forgotten, 
On  the  worn  and  abandoned  trail 

That  leads  to  a  crumbling  kingdom. 
We  that  dream  and  that  fail. 


For  we  dream  that  we  come  to  our  kingdom. 

Looking  in,  looking  in; 
And, our  phantom  selves  they  beckon  to  us, 

**  Be  glad  and  enter  within !  '* 


We  set  our  foot  to  the  threshold. 
We  reach  our  hand  to  the  door; 

Lo,  the  House  is  a  heap  of  ashes 
And  we  take  to  the  road  once  more. 


[123] 


PART    TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE    TORTURED    MILLIONS 


1  HE  cry  of  the  tortured  millions  rises  to  me 
Like  the  cry  of  a  glacial  river  in  its  gorge 
And  the  smoke  of  their  suffering  surges  upward  to  me 
Like  the  mighty  clouds  of  the  twilight  valley  lands. 
I  shut  my  lids  in  the  dark  and  I  see  them  toiling. 
The  burdened  backs  and  the  glazing  eyes  and  the 
fettered  hands. 


They  are  dying  that  I  may  live,  the  tortured  millions, 

By  the  Ohio  river,  the  Euphrates,  the  Rhone. 

They  wring   from  the   rocks  my   gold,  the  tortured 

millions ; 
Sleepless  all  night  they  mix  my  daily  bread; 
With  heavy  feet  they  are  trampling  out  my  vintage; 
They  go  to  a  hungry  grave  that  I  may  be  fed. 


They  do  not  know  my  face  from  a  million  faces, 
Nor  have  I  ever  beheld  those  poor  oppressed. 
I  only  hear  the  sound  of  their  groans  in  the  valley, 
[124] 


PART     TWO:    FUGITIVES 


The  hiss  and  the  grind  and  the  heat  of  their  torture- 
wheels. 
Engine  and  oven  and  murderous  flying  loom, 
Poison  of  dust  and  faces  sheet-white  in  the  gloom. 

I  do  not  demand  their  service,  no,  not  I. 

They  are  my  slaves  whom  I  wish  to  be  free  and 

happy  ? 
But  I  may  not  free  them  or  thank  them  or  mercy  cry. 
Hunger  and  thirst  and  cold  and  aching  bodies. 
This  is  the  priceless  price  that  buys  my  health. 
Emptiness,  hopelessness,  pitiful  wickedness,  this. 
This  is  the  stuff  I  sew  for  the  purse  of  my  wealth. 

What  shall  I  do  for  my  slaves  who  work  without  hire, 

What  shall  I  do,  I  who  have  asked  them  not.'' 

Shall  I  fold  my  hands  on  my  mountain-peak  in  silence  } 

This  is  the  natural  order,  this  the  common  lot. 

I  will  call  to  them,  I  who  am  one  but  they  are  many, 

To  cease  their  toil;  but  no,  they  obey  me  not. 

I  warm  my  hands  at  the  fires  of  ruining  houses; 
On  a  dying  mother's  breasts  I  sink  my  head; 
Last  night  my  feet  were  faint  from  idleness, 
I  bathed  my  feet  in  blood  her  children  shed, 
O  thou  eternal  Law,  I  wish  this  not  to  be. 
Nay,  raise  them  from  the  dust  and  punish  me, 
[125] 


PART     TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE     UNKNOWN    QUANTITY 


I  AM  that  figure  standing  in  the  dark 
And  just  beyond  the  plain  equation  mark. 


Though  sometimes  clothed  in  robes  of  A  or  B 
Yet  still  behind  the  veil  I  baffle  thee. 


The  things  X  equals,  nay,  they  are  not  X, 
But  lying  prophets  all,  to  lure,  perplex. 


To  lead  thee  up  and  down  the  weary  slate 
While  lurking  on  the  other  side  I  wait; 


And  all  thy  columns  fallen  into  wrecks 
Thou  stumblest  back  to  where  I  still  am  X, 


Impregnably  ensconced,  smiling  and  cool. 
To  flout  thy  skill  and  keep  thee  After  School. 

[126] 


PART     TWO:    FUGITIVES 


Nought  is  a  gateless  Wall  of  frightful  stones, 
And  Minus  is  a  Cave  of  Dead  Men's  Bones. 


My  habit  is  the  place  where  never  yet 
Was  foot  of  living  child  or  teacher  set. 


I  am  the  Man  who  wears  the  Iron  Mask, 

The  Shore  of  Italy,  the  Unfinished  Task, 

The  Headless  Horseman  riding  through  the  dark, 

The  Unknown  Sign  beyond  the  equation  mark. 


[127] 


PART     TWO:    FUGITIVES 


GENIUS 


VV HAT  seest  thou  on  yonder  desert  plain. 

Large,  vague  and  void? 
/  see  a  city  full  of  flickering  streets, 
I  hear  the  hum  of  myriad  engine  beats. 
What  seest  thou? 

I  see  a  desert  plain 

Large,  vague  and  void. 


What  seest  thou  in  yonder  human  face. 

Pale,  frail  and  small? 
I  read  a  page  of  poetry,  of  sin, 
I  see  a  soul  by  tragedy  rvorn  thin. 
What  seest  thou? 

I  see  a  human  face 

Pale,  frail  and  small. 


What  seest  thou  at  yonder  dim  cross-roads 
Beside  that  shuttered  inn? 
[128] 


I 


PART     TWO:    FUGITIVES 


Untravelled  Possibility, 
The  Inn  of  Splendid  Mystery, 
What  seest  thou? 
I  see  the  dim  cross-roads 
Beside  a  shuttered  inn. 


[129] 


PART     TWO:   FUGITIVES 


THE    PROPHET 


lO  speak  one  burning  Word 
Thou  shalt  be  heard. 
Yet  that  one  Word  a  sting 
Of  suffering 
And  on  thy  lips  a  torch 
To  sear  and  scorch 
Until  thou  dost  set  free 
Its  utmost  plea. 


(Rather  than  this  fierce  brand 
An  empty  hand. 
Fling  it  beyond  my  reach 
Lord,  I  beseech!) 


Nay,  thou  art  born  with  this 
One  road  to  Bliss. 
If  thou  the  gift  deny 
'Twill  be  a  cry 

[130] 


PART     TWO:    FUGITIVES 


Of  everlasting  fear, 
Of  murder  in  thine  ear; 
A  sword  within  thy  side. 
This  gift  denied. 


{What,  then,  if  I  obey 
^And  go  my  way?) 


The  world  it  shall  illume. 

Thyself  consume. 

For  even  in  thy  despite 

This  Flame  shall  write, 

Sealing  thine  ecstasy 

And  tragedy, 

And  yet  thy  birthright  given. 

The  price  of  Heaven. 


[131] 


PART     TWO:   FUGITIVES 


EXTINCTION 


r  ROM  Himalaya's  lofty  blue-bright  snows 

A  river  springs,  as  ancient  travellers  tell. 

That  leaping  white  through  tiger  forests  fell 

Into  an  endless  tropic  plain  outflows. 

Where  by  their  huts  swart  Hindoos,  sweltering,  doze 

Beneath  a  sky  like  Krishna's  brazen  bell, 

Dreaming  perhaps  of  some  palm-darkened  dell 

When  on  their  quivering  roofs  sirocco  blows. 

Unheeding  of  its  end  that  river  goes. 

Shrinking  beneath  the  sun's  Medusa  spell. 

To  desert  lands  where  mortal  may  not  dwell. 

Like  a  lost  life  that  evil  ones  compel. 

Drugged  to  destruction  through  its  own  repose, — 

Till  the  clutching  cruel  sands  around  it  close. 


[132] 


PART     TWO:    FUGITIVES 


THE    TRAVELLER 


JLiONG  ages  since  upon  the  planet  Earth, 

Was  his  unconscious  pilgrimage  begun 

At  roseate  rising  of  the  hill-top  sun. 

A  traveller  from  the  moment  of  his  birth 

He  hailed  no  inn  nor  hospitable  hearth 

To  rest  him  ere  his  journey's  end  was  won; 

And  when  the  ways  of  earth  he  had  outrun 

He  knew  not  what  his  journey's  end  was  worth. 

Now  as  he  travels  on  from  sphere  to  sphere. 

Before,  behind  him,  in  perspective  dim, 

The  long  road  lies  to  meet  the  horizon's  rim; 

But  still  his  journey's  end  is  no  more  near 

Than  at  that  first  sun-dawning,  roseate  clear. 

Long  ages  since  when  God's  hand  beckoned  him. 


[133] 


PART    TWO:   FUGITIVES 


WHITE  NIGHTS 

(In  a  Swiss  Hospital) 


JMY  House  of  Pain  stands  high  upon  a  hill 
Where  mountain  splendours  all  the  prospect  fill; 
I,  shut  within,  command  them  at  my  will, 
Yet  often  I  forget  their  sky-flung  line. 
Hearing  a  little  moan  that  is  not  mine 
And  the  quick  feet  of  nurses  for  responsive  fine. 


(At  eve  to-day  the  blackbird  sang  without; 
He  saw  the  glory  of  the  Alps,  no  doubt, 
— The  silver  heights,  the  snowy  uplands  long, — 
And  turned  their  eloquent  radiance  into  song.} 

Oh,  mirth,  mirth,  mirth,  come,  live  with  me  I 

Oh,  love,  oh,  life,  oh,  ecstasy! 


Motionless  as  the  stilled  heart  of  the  storm 
All  night  I  watch  my  window  gather  form. 
Thinking  that  these  same  hours  may  waft  away 
Sweet  souls  of  little  babes  born  yesterday, 
[1S4] 


PART     TWO:    FUGITIVES 


While  he  my  neighbour  on  his  torture-wheel 
Begs  for  the  mercy  of  the  exquisite  steel 
And  all  night  as  we  lie  in  chambers  walled  apart 
His  fierce  inexorable  stare  strangles  my  heart. 

(To-morrow  when  at  last  from  dark  blooms  day 
What  will  my  careless  blackbird  have  to  say?) 


Now  is  the  threshold  between  night  and  morn, 
When  souls  meet  on  the  stairs,  the  dead,  the  newly 

born; 
The  Grey  Hour,  close  enfolding  fears  and  immortal 

things. 
(I,  that  am  sick,  have  listened  to  the  sweeping  of  her 

wings.) 
The  dark  has  flowed  to  dusk,  the  dusk  has  ebbed  and 

gone; 
A  burning  amber  is  the  wild  March  dawn. 
What  of  the  night  beyond  my  chamber  door  ? 
What  troubled  eyes  have  closed  to  wake  no  more  ? 


Prisoner  of  pain  I  lie,  watched,  silent^  bound. 

Yet  my  swift  fearful  thoughts   follow  each  ghostly 

sound 
And  faintly  spell  somewhere  the  muted  tread 
Of  those  who  lift  the  calm  unknowing  dead. 
[135] 


PART     TWO:    FUGITIVES 


(Look!  one  high  mountain  in  that  far  Savoy 
Is  smitten  with  the  sun*s  red  Sword  of  Joy.) 
Wake  and  give  thanks,  ye  women  of  the  ward, 
By  whose  racked  bodies  vulture  death  keeps  guard. 
O  narrow  beds,  O  looks  all  meekly  turned. 
White  faces  and  the  great  eyes  that  have  learned, 
Have  ye  not  seen  how  tall  the  beacon  burned? 


Listen,  my  comrades,  to  yon  outland  flute. 
Our  punctual  blackbird's  jubilant  salute. 
He  sees  the  distant  morning  touch  that  height 
And  sings,  exulting  in  the  Lord  of  light. 

Oh,  mirth,  mirth,  mirth,  come,  live  with  me! 

Oh,  love,  oh,  life,  oh,  ecstasy! 


[136] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


THE    CLOUD    AND    THE    MOUNTAIN 


Two  sister  Whitenesses  lay  along  the  sky. 
Immortal  bubbles  stiller  than  a  sigh, 
White  domes  of  dreams  immeasurably  high. 


The  Cloud  spake  to  the  Mountain  and  it  said: 
"  Lo !  I  am  still  as  thou  and  lift  a  hoary  head. 
Men  marvel  at  my  height  and  are  adread. 


"  My  promontory  rides  the  blue,  a  gallant  prow; 
My  valleys  they  are  deep,  the  sunset  smites  my  brow. 
I  draw  men's  eyes  with  distance,  even  as  thou." 


The  ancient  Mountain  spake:  "  Ephemeral  and  vain, 
This  evening  thou  shalt  vanish  never  to  come  again, 
A  shape,  a  fleet  similitude,  built  out  of  rain. 
[139] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


"  No   flocks   of  sheep  or   goats   follow  thy  phantom 

trails ; 
There  are  no  folk  inhabiting  thy  misty  vales; 
Thine  insubstantial  headland,  lo,  it  faints  and  fails. 


"  Thou  art  a  dream,  a  shadow,  and  a  lure, 

A  ghostly  mountain  and  a  haunted  moor 

Where  thin  thoughts  move  but  nothing  can  endure. 


The  Cloud  spake  to  the  Mountain :    "  Even  so 

It  is  with  thee  and  thy  perpetual  snow; 

Thou  art  a  dream  that  insect  generations  know. 


"  The  men  that  build  their  cities  upon  thee 
Are  dimmer  than  the  Shapes  that  people  me, 
Figments  of  flesh  and  soon  no  more  to  be. 


"  Ages  before  thou  wast  conceived,  I  AM, 
Before  the  earth  took  shape  or  harboured  man, 
When  the  chained  stars  like  molten  rivers  ran. 

[140] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


"  The  frailest  little  thought  that  climbs  my  stair 

It  shall  outlive  the  rock  of  thy  despair. 

Clothed  with  the  stars  when  thou  art  empty  air. 


"  For  as  I  am  a  fable  in  thy  sight. 

Art  thou  and  all  things,  save  the  still  small  light 

Of  candled  souls  that  journey  home  by  night." 


[141] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


TO  HARRIET 

H.    B.    L. 


Dear  Harriet,  we  saw  you  go 

Blithe  and  alone, 
Like  some  tall  nymph  against  a  curved 
sky-line, 

Stepping  wind-blown. 
Gallant  in  your  virginity. 
Adventurous  and  free. 


The  flutes  of  morning  sang  for  you. 

The  snows  allured. 
Oh,  the  far  visions  of  those  rose-white  peaks 

Floating  unmoored! 
Dear  Harriet,  why  hesitate. 
You,  the  wild  wind's  playmate? 


You  heard  a  stranger  voice  that  called. 
Strange  yet  remembered 

[142] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


In  dim  prenatal  chambers  of  your  life. 
As  fascinated  wild  things  lift  the  head 
We  saw  you  pause  in  startled  silhouette, 
Fearing  the  call,  yet  listening,  Harriet. 


The  scarlet  hills  you  love  are  touched  with  frost. 

The  headlands  are  like  ships. 
Thither!  before  the  dream-dew  flash  is  dulled. 

Nor  heed  those  wistful  lips. 
He  calls  you  from  the  land  without  a  name, 
To  the  old  Tents,  the  Distaff  and  the  Flame. 


In  dim  prenatal  chambers  of  your  life 
Through  each  unquickened  spring. 

In  that  enchanted  sleep  wherein  you  lay 
The  Flame  was  king. 

The  blossoming  fire  that  rules  the  races  yet, 

Has  drawn  you  home,  Valkyrie  Harriet. 


[143] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


BEFORE    THE   DAWN 


How  grey  the  garden  was  before  the  dawn. 

And  after  that  sad  wraith  of  moon  had  set, 

When  hand  in  hand  within  the  door  that  let 

On  Fairyland,  no  doubt,  we  stood  withdrawn 

And  watched  the  fading  stars  before  the  dawn; 

Tiptoe  we  trod  between  the  lilies  wet 

To  where  the  peonies  and  the  parsley  met, — 

Where  were  the  fays  that  dance  upon  the  lawn? 

Hoar  mourning-bride  with  close-fringed  eyes  of  blue 

Trembled  along  each  blade  with  beaded  dew. 

And  harboured  by  a  drooping  balsam  cup 

A  folded  moth  like  drowsy  reveller 

Beside  his  wine,  made  inarticulate  stir, 

Dreaming  perhaps  of  some  diviner  sup. 


**  This  is  the  fairy  time  before  the  dawn. 
When  every  bud  is  full  of  mystery. 
And, — ^hark!     I  think  I  hear  a  melody 
Of  little  pipes  come  down  the  pearly  lawn 

[144] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Where  garden  elves  their  gossamer  rings  have 

drawn." 
(Ah,  the  dim  twilight-time's  grave  ecstasy !) 
Look,  in  this  twisted  flower  what  tenantry 
Fluttering  within  to  vanish  with  the  dawn." 
(Ah,  the  shut  lilies*  pale  tranquillity!) 


**  Only  its  satin  plaitings  to  untwirl. 
Then  hold  within  my  hand  a  fairy  girl !  " 
Do  you  remember  how  you  laughed  in  glee 
As  from  the  morning-glory's  opened  whorl 
Tumbled  a  boozy  belted  bumble-bee? 


[145] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


TO    A   WOOD    PATH 


Who  found  you  first. 
Wild  wood  thing. 

Womanly,  wayward. 
Wandering  ? 


In  remote  ages, 

Scored  by  the  million 
Once  there  slept  here 

A  winged  reptilian, 
The  print  of  his  body 

Inscribed  for  your  reason. 
As  he  dreamed  in  his  coilings 

A  cycle  or  season. 


Up  sprang  the  forest 

Through   ages   succeeding; 
Stalked  the  wolves  one  by  one, 

The  grey  wolf  leading. 

[146] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Then  in  the  spring-time. 
Boughs  interlacing, 

The  doe  and  her  fawn 
Went  tenderly  pacing. 


Here  you  flit,  there  you  flit, 

Teasingly  distant. 
Vanishing  ever. 

Ever  persistent. 
Beckoning  us  on. 

Last  born  of  the  million. 
To  walk  in  the  print 

Of  that  dreaming  reptilian. 


Where  the  wolves  quested. 

Savage  and  meagre. 
We  are  love's  pensioners. 

With  hearts  that  are  eager. 
Whither  the  path  leads. 

Dear,  little  matter; — 
Amber  of  spring  hole. 

Waterfall's  chatter; 
You  are  my  goal,  dear. 

Wild  wood  thing. 
Womanly,  wayward. 

Wandering. 

[147] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


THE   LAMP   OF   THE   GENII 


At  evening  when  my  Unadilla  hills  grow  mellow 
And  lose  themselves   against  the  sky's  pale  infinite 

yellow, 
Far    down    the    dwindling    river-reach,    the    silvered 

alley, 
On  the  dim  ranges  high  across  the  brooding  valley. 


Shineth  a  little  light,  on  all  the  hills  one  only, 
Calleth  me  like  a  voice,  wayfaring,  clear  and  lonely, 
That  fain  would  find  a  comrade :  **  Good  neighbour, 

art  a-bed? 
I    haste   to   cheer   and   comfort   the   visions   of   thy 

head." 


Perhaps  one  sits  within  the  glow  of  that  far-lighted 

candle. 
A  book,  and  bread  and  cheese,  a  babe  to  toss  and 

dandle ; 

[148] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Warm  in  the  ruddy  mantle  of  fireside  graciousness. 

Yet  witless  of  the  wider  beam,  the  lordlier  spacious- 
ness; 

How  the  wild  Genius  of  the  Lamp,  across  the  ranges 
fleeting. 

Knocks  nightly  at  a  stranger  door  and  heartens  me 
with  greeting. 


Clothed  as  a  pilgrim  star  He  comes  and  proffers  me 

his  beaker, 
With  dreams  and  glories  for  strong  drink  to  satisfy 

the  seeker. 
My    soul    is    winged    away  'twixt    clouds    of    starry 

faces 
To    all    immortal    thresholds    of    all    delights    and 

places. 


While  he,  the  master  of  that  house,  my  far  unknow- 
ing neighbour. 

He  sits  and  nods  beside  the  lamp  and  rests  him  after 
labour : 

For  him  the  globe,  the  oil,  the  circle  on  the  ceiling. 

The  kiss  upon  his  cheek,  the  homely  shadows 
reeling, 

[149] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


But  mine,  the  Trail  of  Wonder  that  is  to  him 
denied, 

The  Trail  across  the  valley  where  Shapes  go  side  by 
side; 

The  beauty  of  their  footfall  blossoms  as  a  blossom- 
ing rod 

And  the  measure  of  their  stature  is  the  fulness  of 
a  god. 


[150] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


THE  BORDERLAND 


1  HE  darkness  trembles  like  a  rising  tide 

On  day's  pale  verge,  * 
With  myriad  filmy  voices  floating  wide 

On  the  spent  surge. 


The  creeping  line  laps  up  the  futile  land, 

The  strong,  smooth  sea, 
As  on  some  heart,  lies  like  a  quiet  hand 

Hushing  its  glee. 


[151] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


VAGRANTS 


NOW'S  the  time  to  be  abroad 

Singing,  troubadouring, 
When  the  wind  calls  from  the  souths 

And  the  maple  buds  are  luring. 

Every  yeoman's  blood  runs  blither, 

With  the  greensward  for  his  footing, 

And  the  gypsies  take  the  road 

When  the  pipes  of  May  are  fluting. 


Let  us  forth  then  to  the  hedgerows. 

Following  where  the  Blue-Flag  leads  us, 

For  our  kingdom  is  the  Outland, 

And  the  mead-cup  brims  to  speed  us. 

We  will  lodge  us  for  our  slumber 

At  the  Sign  of  the  Wild  Cherry, 

Scrip  nor  staff  to  burden  us 

But  the  heart  to  make  us  merry. 
[152] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Day  by  day  the  trail  to  travel, 

Vagrants  careless  of  indenture. 

Lords  of  all  the  world  at  sunrise, 
Open-hearted  for  adventure. 


So,  love,  our  last  steps  may  lead  us 
To  the  dreaming  sunset  yonder, 

Where  abide  all  fairy  fond  ones. 

Souls  of  those  who  love  to  wander. 


[158] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


LOW    TIDE 


V?  INGED  flare  of  an  autumn  sunset 
Over  the  long,  low  opposite  island. 
Hills  of  loneliness  and  silence. 
Desolate  wide  rock-flung  bottoms. 
Corrugated  glistening  bottoms 
Naked  left  by  the  sea's  withdrawal. 
Occasional  sea-pools  glowing  warily. 
Placid  circular  looking-glasses 
Set  like  gems  in  the  rugged  beaches. 
Copper  tints  of  the  failing  sunset 
Painting  the  crescent  lapping  shallows 
With  burnished  hues  of  mineral  brightness. 
Streaks  of  flame  on  the  umber  edges. 
Cliff's  and  caverns  of  the  coast-line. 
Far  beyond,  the  lavender  ocean. 

Lavender,  infinite,  melting  to  heaven. 
A  fishing-boat  that  floats  at  anchor. 
Silhouette  on  the  sky's  clear  colour. 
Swaying  upon  its  slender  drag-pole. 
Downward  trembling  in  blots  of  reflection. 
[154] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


The  first  lisp  of  the  tide  returning, 
Significant  as  birth  or  spring-time; 
Terrible  omen,  tender  promise 
Of  things  inevitable,  resistless. 
Far-off  travelling  single  sea-bird. 
Sculptured  an  evanescent  instant. 
Dipped  to  the  sunset's  molten  centre. 
Sunk  in  the  sunset's  golden  mystery. 


[155] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


WAKING    SONG 
(After  the  Proven9al) 

Fresh  the  dawn  is  breaking. 

Purple  grows  the  sky. 
Orchard-birds  are  waking, 
Meadow-grasses  shaking 

Dewy  banners  dry. 
Which,  pray,  think  you  is  the  sweetest. 
Day  that  lingers  or  night  that  is  fleetest? 


All  the  silver  night. 

All  the  night  of  May, 
Apple-blossoms  bright. 
Drifted  clear  and  white 

In  the  moonbeams  lay. 
Which,  pray,  think  you  is  the  sweetest. 
Day  that  lingers  or  night  that  is  fleetest? 


Wan  the  wind-flowers  wait, 
Petals  opal-tinted, — 
[156] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


At  the  Orient  gate 
Comes  their  king  in  state; 

Gold  his  auguries  glinted. 
Which,  pray,  think  you  is  the  sweetest, 
Day  that  lingers  or  night  that  is  fleetest? 


[157] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


TENSION 


1  HE  night  was  round  and  dark  and  still 

And  hollow  as  a  sphere, 
Belted  with  iron  memories. 

Bolted  with  bars  of  fear. 


Ihe  loud  hush  beat  upon  my  face. 
The  blackness  reeled  and  sang, 

When  from  an  outer  undreamed  place 
A  sudden  bird-note  sprang. 

All  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 

Hollow  and  grim, — but  hark ! 

That  blissful  note  unbound  my  throat. 
Unwound  the  tightening  dark. 

A  chaffinch  dreaming  in  her  sleep 

Of  purple  thistle  balm. 
Released  the  spell  of  silence  fell; 

The  night  grew  wide  and  calm. 
[158] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


WATER-FOWL  IN  THE  FOG 


1  HEY  sit  upon  the  mist-banks 

Veiled  as  mythology. 
Or  starry  creatures  on  the  scrolls 

Of  large  astrology. 

Like  pearly  notes  of  music 

They  pulse  through  spectral  pages. 
As  in  fantastic  miracles 

Of  Fuji-yama's  mages, 

An  ivory  rilievo. 

The  half-glimpsed  inspiration 
Of  some  archaic  chiseler's 

Untamed  imagination. 

Or  a  Chaldean  vision 

Of  white-plumed  sacred  dancers 
Revealed  at  templed  Abydos 

By  cloudy  necromancers. 
[159] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


On  some  lost  lake  of  Hades 

This  is  thy  dream,  Leander! 
White  breasts  that  float  and  vanish. 

Snow-pale  and  hyacinth-tender. 

The  billowing  mist  upbears  them. 

Drowned  breasts  that  melt  and  wander. 

On  some  lost  lake  of  Hades 
This  is  thy  dream,  Leander ! 


[i6o; 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


WOUNDED 


Let  her  creep  to  earth  again,  my  children. 
She  will  never  heed  our  signal  calls. 
Do  not  whine  along  her  track. 
She  will  not  come  footing  back. 
She  is  wounded  to  the  heart  of  her,  my  children. 
And  the  warm  blood  follows  where  she  falls. 


Let  her  be,  forget  her  steps,  my  children. 
Yea,  forget  the  anguish  and  the  length; 
Let  her  find  a  covert  place. 
There  to  hide  her  glazing  face. 
And  to  stretch  her  grievous  paws  in  silence,  children. 
Dripping,  drop  by  drop,  her  scarlet  strength. 


She  will  dread  the  common  trail,  my  children. 
Crouching  where  the  deepest  shade  is  cast. 
Creatures  of  the  earth  and  sky. 
None  can  comfort  when  we  die, 

[161] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Only  dark  and  unremembering,  my  children. 
For  we  feel  the  Hour  is  come  at  last. 


She  will  creep,  wet  foot  and  slow,  my  children; 
She  will  never  heed  the  signal  call; 
She  will  voiceless  be  and  blind 
To  her  kin  and  to  her  kind. 
Waiting  in  the  shadow,  O  my  children. 
Wounded,  for  that  is  the  End  of  all. 


[162] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


THE    GREBE 


Out  in  the  Northern  night 

Under  the  star-lit  sky. 
What  creature  in  affright 
Utters  that  dreary  cry? 
A-leu-leu-lo,  by  the  lonesome  river, 
All  the  long  night  through  in  the  reeds  by  the  river. 


Is  it  a  little  child, 

Lost  once,  lost  evermore. 
Whose  cry,  so  eerie-wild. 

We  hear  along  the  shore? 
A-leu-leu-lo,  by  the  lonesome  river, 
All  the  long  night  through  in  the  reeds  by  the  river. 


Is  it  some  god  alone 

A  thousand  years  or  so. 

Calling  in  dolorous  tone 

The  nymphs  he  used  to  know  ? 
[163] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


A-leu-leu-lo,  by  the  lonesome  river. 

All  the  long  night  through  in  the  reeds  by  the  river. 


Is  it  a  wandering  ghost 

Grieving  for  some  grey  crime. 
Who  haunts  our  quiet  coast 
From  immemorial  time? 
A-leu-leu-lo,  by  the  lonesome  river. 
All  the  long  night  through  in  the  reeds  by  the  river. 


[16-1] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  WOODS 


1  LIKE  the  leafy-murmuring  solemn  hush 
Of  woods  that  wall  me  round  with  underbrush. 


Their  intricate  tapestry  of  twinkling  green 
Glinted  with  sunlight,  the  grey  trunks  between. 


And  the  thick-woven  carpet,  chequered  brown, 
Dead  leaves  from  many  an  autumn,  matted  down; 


Remote  from  all  things,  sun  and  wind  and  sky, 
Far,  far  above  my  head  the  tree-tops  sigh. 


And  like  the  echo  of  a  distant  land 
I  hear  the  great  lake  wash  upon  its  strand. 
[165] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


So  maiden  calm,  so  silent,  serious, 

'Tis  someone'is  heart,  in  mood  mysterious. 

The  depths  profoundest  of  an  untouched  heart 
From  pain  and  passion  very  far  apart, 

Untravelled  and  unknown,  a  land  enchanted. 
Wild,  labyrinthine,  dim  and  fancy-haunted. 


[166] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


PURPLE    CROCUSES    IN    THE    VAL 
BREGAGLIA 


1  OU  dear  dim  flowers  of  the  spring 

Purpling  this  autumn  valley 
Like  singing  thoughts  that  come  in  dreams 
You  flutter  musically. 

The  quick  and  water-loving  bird, 
A  winged  mote,  darkly  dances 

Where  Marcio's  mist-blown  cataract 
Has  carved  its  wayward  fancies. 

Dazzling  Bondasca  lifts  sky-high 
Her  white  unflinching  splendour 

Above  your  little  laughing  tribes, 
Undaunted,  brief  and  tender. 

On  wild  Bregaglia's  rugged  slopes 

A  blossoming  miracle, 
You  kiss  the  shore  by  Maira's  roar 

In  silence  lyrical. 

[167] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


RONDELS 
I. 

THE    EAST 

A  BIRD  upon  a  budding  wild-rose  branch, 

Dawn  breaking  o'er  the  hills. 
And  music  rippling  from  sequestered  rills. 


Maiden-wise  doth  the  Orient  bloom  and  blanch. 

Till,  ah !  alack-a-day ! 
Rushed  forth  a  cloud  across  the  bridegroom's  way. 


Vainly  the  East  a  passing  shower  forecast 

On  purple  peak  and  plain 
Nemesis-like  fell  the  tumultuous  rain. 


O,  lost  at  morn,  the  sun  came  not  at  last 

Aflame  along  her  path. 
Rosily  reaped  the  West  her  sister's  aftermath. 
Even  so  it  is,  I  cried,  O  Life!  O  Love! 
[168] 


PART    THREE:    THE   FAR    COUNTRY 
n. 

THE    BIRD 

A  bird  upon  a  budding  wild-rose  branch. 

Dawn  breaking  o'er  the  hills. 
And  music  rippling  from  sequestered  rills. 


Maiden-wise  doth  the  Orient  bloom  and  blanch. 

And  to  the  sweet-briar  spray 
Rings  out  a  later  bird  his  amorous  lay. 


In  all  the  morning's  dewy  splendour  bright. 

And  sunny  afternoon. 
Never  was  wild-rose  deluged  more  with  tune. 


O,  wearied  with  the  long  day's  ceaseless  light. 

At  eve  she  fell  asleep, 
Red  petals  pale,  and  no  one  came  to  weep. 
Even  so  it  is,  I  said,  O  Life !    O  Love  I 


[169] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


SERMONS  IN  TREES 


1  HE  purple  of  early  November 
Lies  like  a  dream  on  the  hill; 

In  this  basking  hollow  of  woodland 
The  berry-vines  glitter  and  thrill. 

And  a  maple  is  hushed  to  remember 

Tranced  days  of  quiet  September, 

And  the  gold  that  she  used  to  spill. 


My  feet  through  the  wood-path  bearing 

Are  an  alien  noise  in  the  dale. 
Stirring  to  wings  of  terror 

A  partridge  or  two  from  the  trail; 
So  with  my  uncourteous  daring 
I  have  hindered  their  leisurely  faring. 

The  pretty  brown  birds  of  the  dale. 
I  am  humbled  and  full  of  repentance 

For  my  race's  enmity, 

[170] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


That  these  gentle-eyed  wood-creatures 

Should  whir  from  their  hostelry; 
And  I  fain  would  make  their  acquaintance 
That  they  should  reverse  the  sentence 
And  not  be  afraid  of  me. 


A  tawny  squirrel  comes  whisking 
Around  the  bole  of  a  tree. 

With  his  bright  shy   look  untroubled 
And  his  tail  a-quiver  with  glee; 

I  am  glad  of  his  billowy  risking, 

The  trustful  heart  of  his  frisking; 

And  I  thank  my  brother  the  squirrel. 
For  his  friendliness  to  me. 


[171] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


SEA-BLOOD 

AN  INLAND   CHILD's  INHERITANCE 

Why  did  you  stir,  little  brother. 

At  middle  of  the  night? 
There  was  a  knell  of  the  great  sea-bell, 

A  flash  of  the  lighthouse  light. 


(From  a  distant  tower  the  hour  tolled  clear. 
And  far  below  in  the  valley  shook  the  torch 
of  a  mountainer.) 


Why  did  you  rise,  little  brother. 
So  long  before  the  dawn? 

I  heard  the  wail  of  a  sinking  ship, 
The  cry  of  a  sailor's  horn. 


(The  hills  returned  a  panther's  whine. 
And  underneath  the  sharp  green  stars  creakled 
a  frozen  pine.) 

[172] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


What  did  you  see,  little  brother. 

At  dawn  on  the  mountain  bleak? 

I  saw  the  white  of  a  tossing  sea. 
Noiseless  from  peak  to  peak. 


(Before  the  sun*s  first  fiery  leap 
He  saw  the  frightened  mists  of  morning 
down  the  valley  sweep.) 


Where  have  you  been,  little  brother. 

This  eager  afternoon? 
I  went  to  the  heart  of  a  naked  wood. 

With  the  lost  and  ragged  moon; 


The  sun  in  my  face  made  a  blinding  mist^ 
The  branches  gleamed  like  spray; 

I  heard  the  sob  of  a  mighty  surge 
A  million  miles  away. 


Why  do  you  ride,  little  brother. 
All  day  in  your  willow  swing? 

I  feel  the  shiver  of  boom  and  spar 
And  I  hear  the  top-sail  sing; 

[178] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


I  shout  with  joy,  "  Land,  land,  ahoy! " 
The  helmsman  cries,  "  Hip,  hip !  " 

Through  the  soapy  swale  of  plunging  foam 
I  rock  with  the  rocking  ship. 

Why  do  you  stand,  little  brother. 

At  sunset  by  the  pane? 
Beneath  that  fringe  of  dreadful  firs 

I  see  a  golden  main; 

There  are  no  shores  on  either  side, 

For  God  hath  set  no  bond. 
But  still  it  lies,  how  still  it  lies. 

And  stretches  far  Beyond. 


(Those  infinite  leagues  of  silent  foam 

In  the  uncharted  golden  west 
Where  only  phantom  ships  may  roam. 
Beat  through  the  sea-blood  of  this  child  and 
draw   him   home. 

Home  to  the  deep  sea's  fathering  breast,) 


[174] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


THE    CALL    OF    SPRING 


I  HEARKENED  at  dawn  to  the  call  of  the  Spring, 

The  voice  of  a  spirit, 
And  my  soul  leapt  up  like  a  wild-wood  thing, 

Like  a  hawk  from  its  tirret. 


She  is  calling  me  out  to  the  open   wold. 

To  the  scurrying  hollow. 
To  the  violets  dim  in  the  dead-leaf  gold. 

Where  the  white-wings  follow. 

All  the  blue  April  pools  are  a-dance  and  alive 

With  thrips  and  with  midges. 
Dumb  shimmering  mites  that  equally  thrive 

As  the  merle  on  the  ridges. 

The  merle  sits  a-tilt  on  the  rotten-wood  rail. 

Blithe  heart  for  his  booting, 
Toling  me  out  to  the  gypsy  trail. 

With  his  mocado  fluting. 

[175] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


The  merryman  Wind  I  will  have  for  my  mate, 

On  the  moorland  reeling, 
And  a  journeying  shadow  when  day  is  late. 

With  a  cloud  for  my  shieling. 


The  Stars  overhead  will  lamp  me  to  bed, 

A  pilgrim  unladen; 
The  wayfaring  Tree  my  guild-brother  will  be 

And  the  Lark  my  glee-maiden. 


[176] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


THE    GLACIER 


1  AM  the  mother  of  rivers 

And  out  of  my  bosom  of  snow. 
Restless,  tormented  and  leaping. 

My  passionate  children  go. 


They  spring  from  the  deathly  Silence 
Of  a  white  and  passionless  life. 

Yet  far  below  in  the  valleys 

Is  the  rumour  of  their  strife. 


They  gnash  their  teeth  in  the  darkness 

Of  the  dolomitic  gorge; 
They  plunge  from  the  porphyry  precipice 

Like  a  thunder-driven  forge. 

I  sit  unattainably  splendid. 

Folded  from  peak  to  peak. 

O  thou  last-born  of  my  bosom, 
What  goest  thou  forth  to  seek? 

[177] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


I  am  white  as  the  whiteness  of  dawning; 

I  lift  a  perpetual  brow, 
A  frozen  and  pitiless  beauty. 

Yet  once  I  was  driven  as  thou. 


I  mounted  to  crests  of  anguish; 

I  sank  to  the  cruel  crevasse; 
Yet  even  from  this  is  calmness, 

And  lo !  it  has  come  to  pass. 


I  was  sculptured  mid-sea  of  my  passion 

Millions  of  ages  ago. 
My  lips  are  locked:  I  am  speechless, 

But  I  know,  my  child,  I  know. 


[173] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


THE  HOUSE  OF  GREAT  CONTENT 


1  HERE  is  a  certain  gracious  garth  I  know, 

Unwrought  by  human  hand, 
Most  like  a  faery  garden  in  a  book 
Whereon  no  mortal  man  may  ever  look, — 

This  lovely  croft  of  land. 


Not  far  away  the  sober  highway  creeps. 

The  pleasaunce  witting  not; 
Its  calm  of  mountain  curves  in  pure  embrace, 
Blue-windowed  into  realms  of  heavenly  space 

About  the  joyful  plot. 


A  fair  green  meadow  in  a  river  bend 

By  silver  willows  crowned; 
A  sweep  of  hill-side  like  a  gallant  wall, 
And,  lone  upon  its  ledge,  a  pine-tree  tall 
Guards  this  enchanted  ground. 

[179] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


It  hath  a  spring  bordered  divinely  blue 

With  water-loving  flowers; 
A  tender  isle  that  fringed  with  alder  is. 
Where  fireflies  weave  their  silent  symphonies^ 

Spangling  the  twilight  hours. 

So  cunningly  within  the  hills  'tis  set 

In  happy  youth  apart, 
It  seems  beyond  the  ken  of  toil  and  time. 
Lisping  the  little  river's  intimate  rhyme 

Deep  in  its  lyric  heart. 

Beloved,  let  the  unknowing  world  go  by 

In  futile  wonderment. 
While,  some  rich  day,. there  builds  for  you  and  me 
Between  the  willows  and  the  plumed  tree 

A  house  of  great  content. 


[180] 


I 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


THE  FAR  COUNTRY 


The  tale  of  life  is  heavy 
Upon  the  city  street. 

But  dreaming  I  go  ever 

To  a  far  land  and  sweet. 


By  day,  the  bondman's  harness. 
The  townling's  restless  brain; 

By  night,  a  breezy  upland, 
A  tansy-bordered  lane. 

The  earth,  new-born  at  sunrise. 
The  meadow,  smoking  mist; 

The  river  bathed  in  purple. 
The  distance  amethyst. 

Behind  the  druid  pine-tree 

The  great  sun  journeys  up; 

He  lifts  the  clouds  and  opens 
The  briar  rose's  cup. 
[181] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


The  fox  grapes  in  the  boskage. 
Green-panoplied  and  cool. 

The  eager  cardinal  flower's 

Shy  scarlet  straight  flammule; 


Along  the  bounteous  hillside, 

The  round  sun  at  their  back. 

The  f  ronded  flaming  sumacs, 

The  elder  thickets  black, — 


These  are  my  dream  companions; 

Forgot  and  far  behind 
Are  play  and  tinsel  novel, 

The  culture-maddened  mind. 


Or  *tis  a  white  May  morning, 

Bloom-drifted  orchard  floors. 

In  his  green  oratory 

A  mystic  thrush  adores. 


Sometimes  the  calm  of  sunset 
Poured  like  a  golden  wine. 

And  spacious  streaming  shadows 
And  solitude  divine. 

[182] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Or  in  the  eldritch  twilight 

With  tree  shapes  dimly  spelt. 

Faint  odours  float  and  vanish, 

Stray  fireflies  gleam  and  melt. 


Day  is  a  lamp-lit  country 

Glimpsed  through  the  window  square, 
Where  vague,  unsteady,  houseless 

Things  hover  in  mid-air. 


And  I,  a  loitering  shadow. 

With  other  shadows  dwell. 

Twirling  like  string-tied  puppet 
In  aimless  tinternel. 


Night  is  the  freeman's  country 
Wherein  my  soul,  unshod. 

Her  thatch-cloak  loosed  about  her. 
Lays  bare  her  breast  to  God. 


[183] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


INDIAN  SUMMER 


What  splendid  ways 

These  russet  days 
We  roam  and  roam  together: 
Leaving  behind  the  heavy^  blind 
Turmoil  of  town,  with  lightsome  mind 
Through  wood  and  dale 
We  seek  the  trail 
Of  scarlet  autumn  weather. 


The  zigzag  fence. 
The  common-sense 
Of  the  squirrel's  witty  chir; 
The  vanishing  tread  of  the  wood  leaves 

dead; 
The  torch  of  the  maple  beckoning  red 
By  hill  and  hollow 
As  we  follow 
The  falling  chestnut  burr. 
[184] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


On  upland  higher, 
A  fringe  of  fire. 
The  sumacs  take  the  breeze. 
Clematis  white  is  winged  for  flight, 
Fox  grapes  wait  for  the  touch  of  night; 
Apples  drop 
From  the  orchard's  top 
And  the  frost  creeps  under  the  trees. 


Perhaps  more  slow 
We  choose  to  go 
Than  they  who  walk  alone, 
While  on  the  wold  the  ruined  gold 
Rustles  a  music  manifold; 
But  onward  yet 
Our  feet  are  set 
For  a  charmed  place  our  own. 


So,  pacing  faster. 
We  watch  the  aster 
Its  frosted  purples  fling 
By  wayside  wall,  and  over  all 
The  woodbine  weave  its  Indian  shawl: 
Then  by  the  stile 
In  kingly  file 
Our  goldenrods  upspring. 
[185] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


With  welcome  sweet 
That  sunburned  seat 
Allures  us  to  delay, 
A  green  philosophy  to  rehearse, 
A  tale,  a  golden  book  of  verse. 
Till  other  lore 
Compels  us  more 
And  lips  will  have  their  way. 


Cathedral  shades   • 
The  solemn  glades 
Draw  down  on  our  returning; 
Frosty  and  chill  each  lonely  hill, — 
But  Love,  light-footed,  leads  us  still 
Where  down  the  road 
To  His  abode, 
The  orange  west  is  burning. 


ri86T 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


THE  SOUL  OF  THE  GOLDENROD 


1    AM  the  soul  of  a  girl,  winged,  splendid  and  tall, 
Alert  for  the  autumn's  delectable  days  when  I  rise  to 
answer  the  Call, 


To  drink  the  faint  wine  of  the  frost,  to  spread  the 

gold  furze  of  my  hair. 
On  the  lonely  hill  with  the  shadows  of  clouds  and  the 

pine-tree  pilgrims  to  fare. 


From  the  milk-white  sea  of  dawning,  the  breathless 

colourless  time 
Beneath  the  rim  of  the  rose-red  sun  when  the  valleys 

drift  with  rime. 


To  the  milk-white  sea  of  evening,  the  edge  of  the  world 

on  fire. 
When  the  mist  sweeps  up  and  the  moon  swims  down, 

an  untranslated  desire. 
[187] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


They  buried  me  years  ago  where  the  grave-stones  look 

aghast ; 
I  was  never  asleep  at  all^  but  a  captive  freed  at  last: 


Free  from  unsatisfied  hunger  to  walk  with  the  wistful 
things, 

Moths  and  lizards  and  forest  paths,  twilights  and  hid- 
den springs. 


Free  from  the  deafness  and  blindness  whereto  I  was 

born  and  reared, 
Free  to  be  silent  and  simple,  unafraid  and  wholly  un- 

feared. 


It  was  good  to  mix  my  soul  with  the  darkling  soul  of 

the  sod. 
For  the  bosom  of  earth  is  the  bosom  of  knowledge,  is 

Understanding,  is  God. 


It  is  better  to  spring  from  the  soil,  to  be  parcel  of  eve 

and  of  morn. 
To  burst  the  seed,  to  unfurl  the  flower  and  a  plumy 

fruit  to  be  borne 

[188] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


A  hundred  ways  with  the  winds  on  their  yeoman  in- 
visible range. 

Stirred  with  sentience  immortal  through  rich  elemen- 
tal change; 


This  is  eternal  expression,  the  ultimate  noble  speech. 
Dimmer  and  freer  and  larger  than  human  lips  may 
reach. 


I  am  come  to  my  own  again,  to  the  heritage  of  my 

race; 
Created  and  master-creator  I  lift  a  transfigured  face. 


Sister  to  wayside  stones,  and  to  asters  on  the  hill, 
1,  the  soul  of  a  girl,  immortal  and  golden  still. 


[189] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SAW-MILL 


Borne  in  the  womb  of  the  forest,  lapped  in  the  quiet 
eternal, 
Lay  they  and  ripened  for  me. 
Thrilled  with  the  tremble  of  birth-joy,  breaking  the 
soil  maternal. 
Budded  and  bourgeoned  for  me. 


Centuries  long  in  the  silence  of  mountains  austere  they 
.  flourished. 
Soaring  to  plume  and  shaft. 
Battled  by  bugling  tempests,  by  rain-time  and  sun- 
time   nourished; 
I,  in  my  hunger,  laughed. 


Balsam  and  fir  and  spruce. 
Tamarack,  cedar  and  pine. 
By  shidrvay  and  chute  and  sluice. 
Mine  are  they,  mine  and  mine, 

[190] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Peach-coloured  dawning  and  lilac  of  shadow_,  dazzle 
of  nooning, 
Whipped  to  a  froth  of  snow, 
Piping   of   horns   in   the   frost-stifFened   branches   or 
lullaby  crooning, 
I  will  sing  to  you  so. 


Over  and  over  aloud,  the  tale  of  the  years  abounding. 

Tiptoe  of  squirrel  and  hare. 
White-tailed  twinkle  of  yearling  fawns,  woodpeckers* 
pounding. 

Lope  of  the  fox  to  his  lair ; 


All  the  intricate  melody  deep  in  your  bosom  cherished. 

Footfall  of  snow  and  rain, 
Inarticulate  whisper  of  beech-leaves,  secrets  that 
perished, 

tLive  they  anew  in  my  strain: 


Vast  and  unresting  my  shriek. 
Insistent,  sibilant,  grim. 
While  the  endless  pulleys  creak 
I  whirl  to  a  swiftness  dim; 

[191] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Blurred  to  a  motionless  speed. 
Centre  and  jagged  rim. 
Stirred  to  a  splendid  greed. 
Singing  my  terrible  rede, 
1  whirl  to  a  swiftness  dim,. 


Sweeping  and  leaping  of  winds  in  your  branches^  the 
fierce  revelation, 
Of  lightning's  Damascus  blade, 
Cooing  and  wooing  of  doves  in  your  branches,  the 
sweet  invitation 
Of  April-eyed  things  unafraid; 

Dripping  of  spring-time,  autumn  a-whipping  the  hills 
with  her  broomstick  yellow. 
Partridges'  lonely  tattoo. 
Meteors  startling  an  August  midnight,  moon  of  the 
hunter,   mellow. 
These  I  remember  for  you; 

Many    a    sigh    of    forgotten    summer,    needless    that 
scatter. 
Petals  of  wax  on  the  trail. 
Breath  of  the  twin-flower,  stripe  of  the  sorrel,  maiden- 
hair's tatter, 
Pyrola  spirit-pale; 

[192] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Many  a  pearly  pattern  of  winter,  sparkle  and  tingle 

Under  the  Pleiades  dim, 
Burst  of  the  frost  like  ghostly  artillery, — ^these  I  will 
mingle 

Into  my  ultimate  hymn. 


Balsam  and  fir  and  spruce. 
Tamarack,  cedar  and  pine. 
By  shidway  and  chute  and  sluice. 
Mine  are  they,  mine  and  mine. 


Sledded  or  snaked,  with  icicles  caked  or  f  oamily  flaked 
From  the  drives  of  the  river  they  scurry, 

Mill-race  and  flume  in  a  fury  of  spume  and  drunk  with 
the  doom 
That  is  leashed  to  the  law  of  their  hurry. 


In  from  the  dam  with  the  clambering  jack,  pine  and 
hemlock  and  cedar. 
Hither  their  footsteps  bend. 
Belt  whizzing  white  with  the  engine's  might  and  the 
roar  of  the  giants  that  feed  her. 
This  the  importunate  end! 
[193] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Clutched  from  the  calmness  of  daylight  into  my  pal- 
pitant riot 
Upward  and  up  they  are  ground 
Till  to  one  moment  intense  I  condense  generations  of 
simmering  quiet. 
Fused  in  a  sword-flash  of  sound 


Vast  and  unresting  my  shriek. 
Insistent,  sibilant,  grim. 
While  the  endless  pulleys  creak 
I  whirl  to  a  swiftness  dim; 
Blurred  to  a  motionless  speed. 
Centre  and  jagged  rim. 
Stirred  to  a  splendid  greed. 
Singing  my  terrible  rede, 
I  whirl  to  a  swiftness  dim. 

Piston   and   lever   and    rod,   with   the   steam- wreaths 
round  them  melting, 
Duly  their  task  fulfil; 
Quick  in  the  round  of  obedience,  pulley  and  shaft  and 
belting 
Leap  to  the  law  of  the  mill. 


I  am  the  Word  and  the  Law,  unpitying,  final,  terrific, 
Cleaving  them  through  and  through; 

[194] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


I  am  the  Word  and  the  Law,  joyful,  supreme,  vivific, 
Heralding  birth  anew. 


Memory  am  I  to  them  as  I  spin  through  the  heart  of 
their  being. 
Memory  and  Prophecy, 
Singing  aloud  in  their  ear  the  song  of  the  years  that 
are  fleeing. 
Shouting  the  years  to  be. 


Measures  unknown  I  am  mixing  for  them,  the  tumult 
of  people, 
Sway  of  the  sea-going  deck. 
Swirl  of  light  women  whirling  to  music,  chime  of  the 
steeple. 
Wail  of  the  blackened  wreck; 


Shuffle  of  gamesters,  scuffle  of  shoppers,  chatter  and 
clatter. 
Walking  of  them  that  grieve. 
Swinging  of  bridges  and  singing  of  railways,  feet  of 
children  a-patter. 
These,  prophetic,  I  weave. 
[195] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Vast  and  unresting  my  shriek. 
Insistent,  sibilant,  grim. 
While  the  endless  pulleys  creak 
I  whirl  to  a  swiftness  dim; 
Blurred  to  a  motionless  speed. 
Centre  and  jagged  rim. 
Stirred  to  a  splendid  greed. 
Singing  my  terrible  rede, 
I  whirl  to  a  swiftness  dim. 


[196] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


AT  DEAD  OF   NIGHT 


At  dead  of  night  when  the  great  winds  fight 

Titanic  war 

In  the  heavens  afar, 
When  the  stars  gleam  and  glance  like  spear-point  and 
lance 

In  the  sky's  black  expanse. 
When  I  hear  the  witch-leaves  in  the  eddying  dance. 
And  a  skeleton  knuckle  my  window  is  knocking 
With  a   ghoulish  tap-tap — 'tis   the  woodbine   a-rock- 
ing.— 


At  dead  of  night  when  the  great  winds  fight, 

I  hear  the  light  tread 

Of  shades  of  the  dead, — 
Faces  dim  at  the  pane  that  gather  and  strain, 

A  shadowy  train. 
That  peer,  disappear  like  mists  of  the  rain, 
And  I  know  them,  the  ghosts  of  the  gay  and  the  brave. 
Awaked  from  their  grave  by  the  wind  and  the  wave. 

[197] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


At  dead  of  night  when  the  great  winds  fight. 

They  summon  me  forth 

The  south  winds  and  north. 
There's  a  banner  flung  out  and  a  bold  battle-shout; 

'Tis  a  right  royal  rout, 
And  Paladin  Roland  at  head  of  the  bout. 
There's   the  clangour   of   armour,  the  twang  of  the 

bow, — 
Charlemagne  and  the  foe  at  renowned  Roncevaux. 

At  dead  of  night  when  the  great  winds  fight. 

List!  for  I  hear. 

Borne  in  on  my  ear. 
Swift  horses  that  fly  like  the  wind  rushing  by 

And  the  Bedouin  cry 
Of  Blest  be  Mahomet  and  Allah  on  high ! 
And  the  Syrian  scimitar  flashes  blue 
In  the  hand  of  the  prophet  Al  Amin  the  true. 

At  dead  of  night  when  the  great  winds  fight. 

Ho!  the  Viking 

In  his  vessel  a-wing 
From  main-yard  and  mast  o'er  the  sea  flying  fast 

And  the  boreal  blast 
Booming  from  icebergs  glittering  vast — 
Oh,  the  visions,  the  voices,  the  vanishing  crowd, 
That  people  the  night  when  the  winds  blow  loud. 
[198] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


AFTER  THE  LONG  RAIN 


1  HE    dark    remembering   woods    within   themselves 
were  crying. 

The  reminiscent  trees; 
Thin  woof  of  cloud  across  the  moon's  prow  flying; 
The  river-meadows  in  the  dimness  lying. 

Most  mystical  of  seas. 


The  meadows,  mile  on  mile,  unharvested  white  places, 
Were  lapped  in  leagues  of  dusk  for  unimagined  spaces 
And  snowed  upon  with  level  drifts  of  still  and  wake- 
ful daisies. 


Motionless,   soundless,   vague,   all   night  they   waked 

and  whitened. 
In  their  foamy-faery  depths  pale  phosphor  swam  and 

brightened 
And   with    some    smouldering    memory    a   cloud-edge 

burned  and  lightened. 

[199] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


All  night  the  moon's  wreck  drove,  the  meadows  lay- 
unsleeping. 

Like  phantom  headlights  firefly  barks  flew  leaping. 

All  night  the  dark  and  reminiscent  woods  were 
weeping. 


[200] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


THE  WOOD-SPELL 


JJEEP  in  a  dappled  forest  where  the  linden-trees 

grow  tall, 
Where  the  beeches  spread  out  greenly  and  the  brown 

leaves  carpet  all; 


Where  the  ferns  from  their  dewy  ledges  drip  over  an 

amber  pool. 
And  one  pale  violet  lingers  alone  in  the  dusk  and  cool; 


Where  the  plash  of  wind  in  the  branches  is  the  sound 
of  a  surge  far  away 

But  below  like  the  heart  of  the  ocean  is  stillness  un- 
broken alway; 


Where     the    sunlight    flickers    dimly, — ay,     dim    as 

dreamed-of  bliss, — 
There  in  that  emerald  twilight  rode  Lady  Blanchelys. 
[201] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Green  like  the  leaves  was  her  kirtle  and  her  eyes,  like 

the  water,  brown 
And  clear  with  glintings  of  amber,  and  like  sunshine 

her  hair  fell  down. 


Faintly  the  Angelus   sounded  out  of  the  streaming 

west, 
The  wistful  voice  of  a  mother  calling  her  children  to 

rest. 


But  Blanchelys  in  the  forest,  from  holy  chapelle  far. 
Listed  the  sursum  corda  of  leaf  and  wind  and  star. 


From  her  palfrey  white  she  lighted  when  the  fearsome 
shadows  fell 

And  in  that  whispering  hollow  she  wove  her  a  wood- 
spell. 


MIDGET-SPELL 

Little  pipers  of  morasses 

Wide; 
Little  fluters  of  the  grasses 

Pied; 

[202] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Tinjr  tenants  of  tree-tunnels 

Dim, 
Or  with  freehold  by  a  runnel's 

Rim; 

Scarlet  spiders  by  a  kind  weed 

Hid; 
Blue-green  beetles  in  the  bindweed 

Slid; 

Shrill  hylodes  with  your  tinging. 

Thin, 
Distant,  doleful,  lonely-ringing 

Din; 

Moon-white  moths  that,  paired  like  lovers. 

Stray 
In  some  garth  as  twilight  hovers 

Grey. 

All  ye  bodiless  voices,  wavering 

Mere 
Pulse  of  darkness,  quivering,  quavering; 

Clear, 

Filmy  creatures, — flitting,  creeping; — 

Ward 
Peril  from  me,  all  my  sleeping 

Guard. 


Rustled  the  tall  woods  wisely ;  courteous  they  were  and 

fain, 
Yet  by  their  sunset  margin  Sir  Malincour  drew  rein. 
[203] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


On  an  evil  mission  came  he,  black-browed  Sir  Malin- 

cour. 
To  steal  a  bride  unwilling  by  most  ungentle  lure. 

A  little  passage  threaded  the  broken  boughs  between, 
Where  the  slim  ashes  scattered  their  brushwood,  glit- 
tering-green. 

The  long  low  radiance  vanished,  twitter   of  insects 

hushed, 
As     down    the    dark    cathedral    of    forest    aisles    he 

brushed: 


Still,  by  the  massy  oak-tree,  like  saint  within  a  shrine 
Of  some  grey,  hill-top,  pilgrim  church,  broidered  with 
vine 


And  thatched  with  aged  mosses,  whither  the  poor  folk 

fare 
All  day  up  the  steep  steps,  rough-hewn,  to  offer  prayer 


Before   Saint   Luce   who   folds   her   hands,   listening 
through  stony  years    , 

While  lace-like  ferns  lean  over  her  and  the  small  hare- 
bell cheers, — 

[204] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


So,  still  as  statued  virtue,  the  lady  in  the  wood 
Weaving  her  wood-spell  rightly,  against  the  tree-trunk 
stood. 


FLOWER-SPELL 


Night-flowers,  hark. 
On  woodland  marge, 

In  the  frail  dark. 
Wistful  and  large: 

Pale  primrose  cup 

Where  rose-winged  sheen 
Grave  moths  may  sup 

And  flit  unseen; 

Lush  jewel-weed 

Beaded  with  dew; 
Faint  thistle  seed. 

Globose  and  blue; 

You  tremulous  small 
Gauze-petalled  guild. 

By  shy  dew-fall 

And  star-shine  thrilled,— 

Watchers  of  night; — 

List  to  my  spell: 
Till  flushing  hght 

O  guard  me  well ! 

[205] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Three  bow-shots  from  his  charger,  where  the  dusky 

pathway  went. 
Was  Blanchelys,  wood-maiden,  and  the  leaves  about 

her  bent. 


If   Malincour  but  find  her  and  wreak  his   purpose 

fell,— 
Woe  worth  the  day  for  Blanchelys;  now,  wood-things, 

guard  her  well  I 


The  first  small  star  blinked  timidly  in  the  trembling 

olive  sky, 
And  in  the  hollow  quiet  he  heard  a  lady  sigh. 


Green  were  the  blossoming  wild-grapes;   faint  was 

their  spicy  tang; 
Across  the  trail  their  wiry  festooning  tendrils  sprang. 


The  knight  in  his  malfeasance  had  won  a  dark  re- 
nown 

But  underfoot  tendril  and  root  pulled  horse  and  rider 
down. 

[206] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


And  now  the  third  strand  weaveth  she,  with  virginal 

grave  calm. 
On  the  sky's  marge  the  star  grew  large,  the  evening 

air  shed  balm: 


WIND-SPELL 

Night-wind  that  roisterest  to  and  fro. 
By  shuttered  thorpe  and  marish  low; 

And  to  and  fro  on  keening  quest 
From  veiled  east  to  star-sown  west; 

Night-wind  that  wanderest  up  and  down. 
Vagrant  of  time  and  outland  clown; 

Wild  rider  blowing  your  grey  horn 
For  Hunt's-up  in  dim  hours  of  morn. 

And  still  at  blood-red  close  of  day 
Loud-shouting, — Harrow-and-away ; 

Night-wind,  O  list  thee  to  my  spell 
And  all  the  long  night  guard  me  well. 


Far  from  the  trail  he  wandered.  Sir  Malincour,  that 

night, 
Led  by  a  thousand  fantasies  torturing  his  sight. 
[207] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


The  wood  waxed  dark  and  darker,  but  through  the 

dark  there  gleamed 
Beside  some  trunk  a  brightness  of  gold  hair^  as  he 

deemed ; 


Nought  but  the  ghostly  glimmer  of  beech-bole  long 

decayed 
And  waxen  toad-stools'  mockery  of  hands  in  slumber 

laid. 


The  sighing  wind  misled  him ;  an  aimless  pyralid 
With    weak    white    wings    affronted    him    the  forest 
glooms  amid. 


Shadow-pursuing  ever,  he  wandered  the  night  long, 
Pursued   by   shadows   ever.      The   wood-spell   waxed 
strong. 


But  Blanchelys,  sweet  lady,  who  loved  the  wood-things 

well. 
Took  comfort  of  their   friendliness,  murmuring  her 

spell. 

[208] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


STAR-SPELL 

All  the  hollow  dark  of  sky- 
Is  yearning  down  with  stars. 

Faint  as  rosy-striped  spring  flowers 
When  April  leaps  the  bars. 

All  the  bourneless  vague  of  sky 

Is  palpitant  with  lamps, 
Gypsy  lamps  of  light-foot  tribes 

In  golden  careless  camps. 

Sirius,  Aldebaran, 

Pale  Watcher  of  the  Pole; 
Violet-crowned  Olympians, 

Stript  for  the  Utter  Goal; 

Ye  my  fellows,  bright-heart  palmers, 

Algol,  Algebar; 
Ye  who  fare  the  mighty  road 

Where  God  and  Silence  are; 

Mica-dust  of  million  feet 

Upon  the  threshold  dim; 
Interstellar  milky  blush 

And  undreamed  Thoughts  of  Him; 

Build  about  me  for  my  chamber 

In  the  House  of  Night 
Jacinth  walls  of  purple  silence, 

Windows  chrysolite 

Where  a  large  low  star  may  enter; — 

Lucent  floor  of  sard; 
Ceiling  open  to  the  Pleiads; — 

Thus  my  slumber  guard. 

[209] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


The  broad  night  wrapped  her  to  its  heart  as  a  mother 
folds  her  child 

In  a  deep  embrace  and  silent;  and  the  little  wood- 
things  wild 

Called  her  sister  and  loved  her,  shy  hearts  that  watch 

and  wake, 
God's  darkling  pensioners  of  flower  and  mould  and 

brake. 


In  the  lap  of  the  lonely  forest  where  a  hundred  mys- 
teries creep 
As  in  her  own  soft  chamber,  lay  Blanchelys  asleep. 


At  midnight  through  the  forest  rode  at  the  king's  be- 
hest, 

Sore  weary  with  long  faring,  the  brave  knight  Dorin- 
crest. 


There  where  the  moonlight  faltered,  one  solitary  beam, 
Upcurved  like  a  lily,  he  saw  a  white  hand  gleam. 


Full  softly  he  alighted,  the  brave  knight  Dorincrest, 
And  lo,  beneath  the  oak-tree  a  lady  lay  at  rest. 

[210] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Black  lashes  swept  her  paleness  like  fringe  of  flowers 

rare; 
Flowed  on  her  lovely  bosom  the  glory  of  her  hair. 

Upon  his  spear  he  rested  and  could  not  gaze  his  fill; 
"  In  sooth,  so  fair  a  vision,"  he  thought,  "  can  work 
no  ill." 

"  Would  I  might  win,  dear  Heaven,  from  such  sweet 

lips  a  kiss  !  " 
Dreaming  of  love  while  sleeping  smiled  Lady  Blanch- 

elys. 

"  'Twere  well  to  guard  her  slumber,"  said  the  knight 

Dorincrest, 
**  Lest  noisome   beast  or  bandit   break   in   upon   her 

rest." 

Not  too  far  off  he  couched  himself  the  calm  hours 

through, 
The  Assyrian  stars  above  him  in  the  ancient  infinite 

blue. 

And  gentle  thoughts  beside  him  that  night  for  com- 
rades boon, 

While  'twixt  the  carven  foliage  faded  the  westering 
moon. 

[211] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Still  in  her  charmed  slumber  smiled  Lady  Blanchelys; 
And  Dorincrest^  still  watching,  yearned  for  the  lady's 


Then  the  wan  dawning-time  began,  the  sacred  hour 
Of  souls  that  journey  noiselessly,  of  the  unfolding 
flower. 


As  some  momentous  message,  in  milky  fluid  writ. 
Seeming  but  virgin  paper,  all  danger  to  outwit. 

Ending  its  perilous  mission,  is  held  before  the  sun 
And  the   cryptic  characters   emerge,  deciphered   one 
by  one; — 

Thus,  as  the  dark  fled  backward,  the  trees  came  slowly 

forth 
Till  the  blotted  forest  was  reborn  from  south  to  north. 


The  ecstatic  sky  grew  paler,  the  last  star  flickered  out. 
And  the  wind  walked  tip-toe  in  the  leaves,  trembling 
with  doubt 


And  solemn,  as  in  some  hushed  tender  house  of  birth; 
So,  quiet  with  expectancy,  waited  God's  earth 
[212] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Till  from  unrecked-of  mystery,  the  perfect  sun  up- 

sprang 
And  in  his  tall  tower  suddenly  a  reverent  wood-thrush 

sang. 


Now,  Dorincrest,  is  ended  your  term  of  watchful  care 
And  on  the  good  king's  errand  forth  you  may  blithely 
fare. 


Then  paced  he  forth,  but  slowly,  while  underneath  the 

oak, 
A  sunbeam  on  her  forehead,  had  Blanchelys  awoke. 


She  girded  up  her  kirtle;  her  palfrey  mounted  she 
And  toward  the  forest's  golden  margin  ambled  free. 


The  blue-eyed  grass  was  opening;  the  meadow  shim- 
mered wide; 

The  morning  mist  up-floated  from  the  sedgy  river- 
side. 


There  in  the  sparkling  shallows  a  horse  had  paused  to 

drink 
And  a  tall  knight  beside  him  on  the  green  river-brink. 

•         [213] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


Veiling  her  look  of  brightness,  with  eyelids  downward 

cast, 
Had    Blanchelys,    unknowing,    love's    open    portals 

passed. 

Her  gold  hair  in  the  sunlight  shook  like  a  summer 

rose. 
And  Dorincrest, — swift  passion  his  thronging  accents 

froze. 


But  look,  the  wilful  palfrey  stooped  to  the  running 

stream 
And  Blanchelys  saw  suddenly  the  knight  of  her  fair 

dream^ 


No  dream-like  shade,  but  glittering  alive,  and  true. 
Swiftly    with    kindling    gesture    his    plumed    hat    he 
withdrew. 


And  Blanchelys  knew  within  her  her  soul  leapt  to  his 

look 
As  leaps  into  the  sunlight  a  subterranean  brook. 

And  Dorincrest  enfolded  the  soul  of  Blanchelys : 
Their  unborn  lives  had  waited  all  the  long  years  for 
this, 

[214] 


PART    THREE:    THE    FAR    COUNTRY 


This  fragile  Moment,  swaying  as  lightly  as  a  flower. 
On  slender  circumstance;  this  blossom  of  an  hour, 


Yet  ages  since  a  seedling  beside  primeval  springs 
And  vastly  brooded  over  by  elemental  things ; 


This,  the  great  Joy  unnameable,  that  thrills  the  finger- 
tips ; 
One  instant  stood  they  silent  in  that  apocalypse. 


Till  on  a  reed  a  blackbird  burst  into  merriment 
And  these  two  laughed  in  answer  for  very  heart' 
content. 


Then  fared  they  forth  together,  feeling  beneath  their 

feet 
The  lyric  pulse  of  April,  unconquerably  sweet. 


[215] 


PART   FOUR:    YOU    AND    I 


PART   FOUR:    YOU   AND    I 


YOU    AND    I 


THE    PINE-TREE    LOVERS 


Under  the  purple  dome  of  northern  night 

The  long  winds  range  above  a  waste  of  snow, 

A  sleeping  ocean,  never  ebb  and  flow 

Of  moon-drawn  tides,  nor  ships  in  shuddering  flight,- 

But  ever  falls  Orion's  ghostly  light 

On  that  pale  ocean's  archipelago 

Of  glooming  forests  that  the  centuries  know. 

Austerely  silent  amid  leagues  of  white. 

And  there  two  souls  of  pines  have  interlocked 

Their  lives  as  one,  far  in  their  age-long  youth ; 

And  many  a  futile  wraith  of  snow  has  mocked 

Them  with  fantastic  images  uncouth 

And  many  a  vehement  baffled  wind  has  rocked 

Them,  but  shakes  not  their  steadfast  heart  of  truth. 


[219] 


PART   FOUR:    YOU   AND    I 


II 

THE   SIMPLE-HEARTED  DAYS 

Once  in  the  simple-hearted  days  of  yore 
We  mapped  the  world  out  for  a  morning's  play ; 
An  azure  calm  the  Adriatic  lay 
Where  the  blue  gravel  road  swept  like  a  floor ; 
The  orchard  upland  was  Siberia  hoar, 
And  lettuce-beds  were  gardens  of  Cathay. 
You  waved  your  hand  and  bravely  sailed  away 
Across  the  daisied  sea  to  Labrador. 
Do  you  remember,  too,  how  all  that  morn. 
Tearfully  through  the  tall  and  rustling  corn, 
(The  yellow-haired  great  vikings  of  the  north) 
I  called  for  you  and  you  would  not  come  forth? 
How  large  the  world  was,  field  and  wood  and  hill ! 
My  heart,  inalienable,  calls  you  still. 


Ill 

CHILDHOOD 

At  Princess-Dragon-and-the-Knight  we  played ; 
The  Princess  I,  within  the  hayloft  pent, 
And  an  old  apple  tree,  grotesquely  bent, 
Was  watchful  Dragon  to  the  luckless  maid. 
You  were  the  Knight,  in  glittering  mail  arrayed, 
[220] 


PART   FOUR:    YOU    AND    I 


And  then  the  air  with  victory  was  rent, 
The  Dragon  slain,  done  my  imprisonment 
And  far  away  we  galloped,  unafraid. 
How  green  the  meadow  and  the  sky  how  blue, 
How  the  birds  gurgled  in  the  apple-tree! 
And  yet  that  Dragon  must  have  risen  anew 
For  still  with  wicked  eyes  and  limbs  aske^ 
He  crouches  by  my  door,  imprisoning  me. 
Beloved  Knight- Adventurous,  where  are  you? 


THE    FUGUE 

1  HE  tramping  chords  and  climbing  scales  I  strum. 
And  fugues  forever  flying  to  and  fro, 
Bass  from  the  treble's  hurrying  oboe 
And  treble  from  the  bass's  booming  drum ; 
Set  free  at  last,  out  where  the  grasses  hum. 
We  play  a  living  fugue,  with  cheeks  aglow. 
Pursuing  and  pursued,  fleet-foot  or  slow. 
And  listening  to  the  flicker's  hollow  thrum. 
Still  all  along  that  rocky  upland  ledge 
The  columbine  hangs  out  its  scarlet  horn 
Where  once  you  ran  whose  voice  of  boyish  scorn 
Pierced  my  retreat  behind  the  cedar  hedge. 
But  now  on  some  dark  forest's  northern  edge 
You  follow  the  grey  night  and  orange  morn.    . 
[221] 


PART   FOUR:    YOU   AND   J 


AFTER    LONG    ABSENCE 

kJ  dear  playfellow  of  youth's  morning  prime. 
Your  written  words  blur  on  the  tremulous  sheet. 
Like  leaves  that  shimmer  in  an  August  heat. 
At  last,  at  last,  the  long-awaited  time 
That  ends  your  journey  from  that  bitter  clime 
Wherein  so  long  have  trod  your  wandering  feet! 
And  once  more  on  the  threshold  when  we  meet 
If  I  am  dumb  it  will  be  Love's  own  crime. 
For  on  such  cross-roads  between  Dole  and  Joy 
When  such  two  souls  stand  looking  face  to  face. 
How  should  they  greet  each  other,  who  can  tell? 
With  glad  calm  eyes  of  comrade  girl  and  boy. 
Or  rush  of  conscious  speech  and  swift  embrace. 
Or  thirsting  silence  unassuageable  ? 


THE    CROSS    OF    JOY 

VVhEN  the  immitigable  hours  have  trailed 
Through  the  blank  whiteness  of  the  snow-fed  moon 
Where  written  shadows  tremble  like  a  rune. 
And  still  with  lagging  footsteps  have  assailed 
The  Dawn's  tall  portals,  blue  and  icy-mailed, 
[222] 


PART   FOUR:    YOU   AND    I 


With  wrinkled  stars  declining  none  too  soon. 

And  last  have  reached  the  Christ-Cross  of  the  noon, 

Full  sunlight,  blazing,  shadowless,  unveiled, — 

Ah,  Lord  of  Love,  gird  thou  my  soul  with  power, 

— For  joy,  an  avalanche's  noiseless  drift. 

Delayed  interminably,  falls  too  swift, — 

Lest,  when  the  stroke  thrill  in  the  dial-tower. 

Pale  cheek  and  leaping  heart,  I  lose  my  dower. 

With  fear  too  great  of  love's  too  perfect  gift. 

yn 

A   CITY  DWELLES 

1 0  me,  a  city  dweller,  very  far 
From  clover  fields  and  river  calms  of  glass. 
But  hearing  always  eager  feet  that  pass. 
Rattling  of  wheel  and  clattering  of  car. 
And  when  night  falls,  instead  of  tranced  star. 
Seeing  without  my  pane  the  feverish  gas, — 
There  came  a  dream  of  trees  and  amber  grass 
And  flowering  plantain  by  the  river  bar. 
There  our  canoe  lay  pulsing  with  the  stream. 
Moored  at  the  roots  of  our  old  willow  tree. 
And,  "  Where  to-day  ?  "  your  voice  rang  merrily. 
And  matched  within  your  eyes  the  adventurous  gleam. 
But  my  own  lips  were  locked,  in  this  my  dream. 
Nor  could  I  touch  the  hand  you  held  to  me. 
[223] 


PART   FOUR:    YOU    AND    I 


VIII 
AND    ONE    STANDS    OUT 


When  that  I  watch  the  winter  twilight  creep 
Dark-foot  adown  the  glimmering  city  road 
And  where  the  sunset's  elfin  country  glowed, 
Rose-mantled  peak  and  valley-land,  there  sleep 
Pale  yellow  seas  along  the  westering  steep, 
While  purple  gossamer  of  the  trees  that  showed 
As  clear  as  writing  where  the  sunset  bode, 
Is  blotted  to  a  vague  and  formless  heap, — 
Then  from  sheer  emptiness  the  thoughtful  ghosts 
Of  other  twilights  gather  round  my  chair ; 
And  one  stands  out  among  the  shadowy  hosts. 
With  vivid  look  and  brave,  imperious  air, 
But  like  the  Pine  upon  his  sheeted  coasts, 
Blind  to  my  hands  and  deaf  unto  my  prayer. 


IX 


UPON    THE    FRINGES    OF    THE    FOREST 

Upon  the  fringes  of  the  forest  old 
I  stood  and  watched  the  sky  leap  into  flower. 
So  thick  it  blossomed  that  autumnal  hour. 
Till,  made  by  God's  long  silence  over-bold 
To  win  the  knowledge  that  the  Pleiads  hold 
[224] 


PART   FOUR:    YOU   AND    I 


Of  birth  and  death  and  love,  of  sun  and  shower, 
I  harked  a  voice :    Thou  dreamest  not  thy  dower. 
Open  thine  eyes  and  hear  the  Secret  told. 
They  were  two  Pine-trees  interlocked  as  one; 
They  knew  the  Secret  that  the  stars  held  fast. 
They  sang  It  to  the  unbelieving  blast; 
They  whispered  It  before  the  reverent  sun. 
But  ever,  like  a  rhythm  scarce  begun, 
It  haunted  and  escaped  me  at  the  last. 


AS  IN  THE  ENDLESS   NIGHT 

As  in  the  endless  night  a  wide-eyed  child 
Turning  and  tossing  on  his  weary  bed. 
His  brain  with  many  a  myth  and  fancy  fed, 
Were-wolf  and  water  weird  and  wizard  wild. 
Might  to  his  open  window  be  beguiled 
And,  tiptoe  peering,  see  the  large  night  spreac^ 
Its  unfamiliar  face  and  thrill  with  dread 
Keen  sense  of  mystery  on  mystery  piled, 
So,  as  we  waked  last  night,  my  soul  looked  out 
From  her  imponderable  prison-pale 
And  saw  the  vast  Unknown  but  wrapped  about. 
To  mortal  sense,  with  silence  like  a  veil. 
If  to  clear  calling  we  could  get  reply — 
But,  love,  that  vast  Unknown  is  you  and  I. 
[225] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


THE    PURE    IN    HEART 
(A  Dramatic  Interlude) 

(The  Men-Dogan  is  a  Druid  stone  in  Brittany  supposed 
to  have  the  power  of  testing  character,  as  it  sways  in  re- 
sponse to  the  touch  of  the  pure  hand  only.  The  fragment 
is  laid  in  Basse-Bretagne  at  that  transitional  time  in  the 
Dark  Ages  when  the  Druid  religion,  long  tenacious  of  its 
ancient  stronghold,  was  slowly  giving  way  to  the  Christian 
faith.) 

PART    ONE 

JEAN-MARIE     AND    GUENOLEE 

Before  the  dawn  on  Easter  morning.  Jean-Marie 
and  Guenolee  leave  their  cottage  in  the  village  of 
Keramhret. 

GUENOLEE 

It  is  so  quiet  one  can  almost  hear 
The  breath  of  that  least  down-ball  of  a  bird 
Who  nests  within  the  fig-tree  by  our  door. 
And  dark,  a  darkness  multitudinous, 
Peopled  with  footsteps  and  invisible  faces. 
Speak,  Jean-Marie,  the  dark  has  swallowed  you. 

[229] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


JEAN-MARIE 


I  stand  close  by. 


GUENOLEB 

And  yet  you  sound  remote 
As  yonder  shrivelled  star  that  shuts  the  lips 
And  shrinks  to  nothingness  before  my  gaze. 

JEAN-MARIE 

Enough  of  shrinking  blinking  nothingness. 
Come,  follow  me. 

GUENOLEE 

Why  need  we  venture  forth 
Before  the  red  sun  smites  the  ivied  towers 
Of  Chateau  Kerambret,  while  cattle  still 
Sleep  in  their  sheds  of  straw  and  birds  are  mute? 

JEAN-MARIE 

The  birds  are  mute. 

GUENOLEE 

It  seems  not  Easter  morn. 
Last  year  the  sky  rippled  with  rosy  colour 
Before  the  dawn  and  nightingales  sang  low. 
To-day  the  tall  blind  Reaper  might  have  passed 
And  silenced  all  the  sleepers  as  they  slept. 
The  white  rime  of  his  nostrils  on  the  night. 
The  dark  wind  of  his  garments  following  him. 

[230] 


1 


THE    PURE    IN    HEART 


JEAN-MARIE 

The  wind  blows  from  the  marshes  of  Tregunc'k. 

GUENOLEE 

The  fog  sticks  in  my  throat,  and  Jean-Marie, 
Your  hair  is  frosted  with  the  glimmering  dew. 

JEAN-MARIE 

What  matters  drench  of  dew  and  drip  of  dark 
And  reek  of  fog  from  here  to  Pouldohan? 
We  go. 

gue'nole'e 
Look  yonder  to  the  vast  sea  fog, 
Stained  with  suffusion  from  the  setting  moon. 
That  hangs  like  some  pomegranate  over-ripe. 
Swollen  and  yellow  above  the  ominous  sea. 

jean-marie 
Moon  sets  and  sun  will  rise. 

gue'nole'e 

The  Easter  sun. 
Dear  sun  that  shone  upon  the  head  of  Christ! 

JEAN-MARIE 

Ay,  but  before.    Think  of  those  centuries. 
Menhir,  cromlech  and  dolmen,  long  ago. 
Before  these  Christian  monks  with  cross  and  cowl 
Trailed  their  black  length  across  Armorica 
[231] 


THE    PURE    IN    HEART 


And  stole  the  solemn  Druid  ceremony. 
Building  high  roofs  to  hold  their  mummery. 
Patching  bright  glass  to  stain  the  innocence 
Of  nature's  face  for  lovers  of  the  light. 

GUENOLEE 

It  is  some  evil  angel  speaks,  not  you. 
For  you  and  I  do  celebrate  this  day 
By  pilgrimage  to  Saint  Barbara's  hill-hung  shrine. 

JEAN-MARIE 

Saint  Barbara's  hill-hung  shrine  and  far  beyond, 

GUENOLEE 

Beyond? 

JEAN-MARIE 

Unto  an  elder  stone  and  temple. 

GUENOLEE 

The  fog  lifts  and  we  see  the  curves  of  road, 
A  quiet  ribbon  beneath  our  feet  unrolled 
As  by  some  mighty  and  invisible  hand. 
Is  that  the  hollow  lane  scooped  out  between 
Its  brier  hedges  and  tall  poplar  stems 
Where  herds  of  cows  file  leisurely  by  day? 
Dear  Jean-Marie,  I  cannot  find  your  hand. 
I  lose  you  in  the  shadows  of  the  trees. 

JEAN-MARIE 

Let  be  my  hand.    And  silence,  Guenolee, 
You  should  have  thoughts  to  keep  you  company. 
[2S2] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


GUENOLEE 

Fair  shining  thoughts  should  walk  beside  us  two. 
Memorial  thoughts  of  Mary  and  her  joy. 

JEAN-MARIE 

Now,  by  the  Men-Dogan,  prate  you  no  more 
Of  Mary  and  her  joy  and  Easter  Morn. 

GUENOLEE 

My  Jean-Marie,  baptised  in  her  name. 
Swear  not  an  oath  upon  the  Men-Dogan, 
The  Druid  stone  accursed. 

JEAN-MARIE 

The  Men-Dogan 
Ages  ago  was  set  for  chastity, 
A  monument  and  a  sign  of  purity. 
For  whoso  lays  a  touch  upon  the  stone. 
And  the  stone  trembles  like  a  reed  wind-shaken. 
That  one  is  stainless  from  the  smirch  of  sin. 

GUENOLEE 

A  ruined  tale  of  folk  who  inhabit  death. 

JEAN-MARIE 

And  have  got  wisdom,  as  thou  and  I  some  day. 

GUENOLEE 

How  strange  an  air  blows  from  your  broken  words ! 

[233] 


THE    PURE    IN    HEART 


JEAN-MARIE 

Not  stranger  than  the  wind  of  prophecy 
That  whistles  round  the  dolmen  of  Tregunc'k, 
Irreparably  freighted  with  foredoom. 

GUENOLEE 

The  heavy  scent  of  Carnoet's  fallen  pines. 
Freighting  with  forest  incense  these  dim  aisles. 

(They  enter  the  forest  of  Carno'etJ) 

How  dusk  within  like  some  cathedral  close 
When  gates  are  locked  and  choristers  are  gone. 

JEAN-MARIE 

There  is  a  close  locked  more  relentlessly 
And  duskier  than  the  wood  of  Carnoet. 

GUENOLEE 

Here  first  we  saw  each  other,  you  recall? 
On  horseback  you,  beside  the  leafy  door 
Of  that  wood-cutter's  hut;  I  with  my  bird 
In  its  green  cage.     A  skylark,  was  it  not? 
From  the  Pardon  des  Oiseaux  I  had  come: 
It  was  in  April  and  the  oaks  in  bud. 
But  whither  now? 

JEAN-MARIE 

It  is  your  humour  thus  to  flit  the  time. 
Unmindful  of  the  Memory  beside  you, 

[234] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


Like  one  who  dances  by  an  open  grave. 
Whither,  you  ask?    We  follow  this  forefinger 
Stretched  down  the  solemn  aisles  of  Carnoet. 
Then  to  Quimperle's  climbing  roofs  and  towers, 
Plumed  orchard  slopes  and  black  shine  of  the  stream. 
Beyond,  we  reach  the  sea-downs  and  the  sea. 
There  in  the  yellow  sand  the  thistle  plants. 
Star-shaped,  pale  prickly-blue,  and  violet-veined, 
Will  stud  the  dunes  as  on  that  summer's  day 
When  you  and  I  first  walked  to  Plouharnec. 

gue'nolee 
Is  that  our  goal,  the  beach  of  Plouharnec.'* 

JEAN-MARIE 

White  arrows  of  the  noon  will  play  across 
The  broad  deserted  sea  as  we  shall  follow 
The  long  beach  curves  where  crisping  waves  run  up 
And  break  in  frills  like  fairy  christening  clothes — 

GUENOLEE 

At  last  Saint  Barbara's  cross  against  the  sun! 
{They  approach  the  pilgrimage  hill.) 

JEAN-MARIE 

The  tufts  of  weed  washed  high  upon  the  shore 
Are  caught  beneath  the  shifting  drifting  sands. 
The  sands  are  rounded  like  still  human  shapes 
And  the  bleached  seaweed  flows  like  dead  girls*  hair 
From  buried  heads,  face  downward  in  the  sand! 
[235] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


GUENOLEE 

What?     Can  you  see  so  far  as  Plouharnec, 
The  seabeach  and  the  seaweed  and  the  sea? 

JEAN-MARIE 

A  dead  girl,  flung  face  downward,  lying  there. 

{Guenolee  stops  at  the  foot  of  Saint  Barbara's 
hill.) 

No  staying  and  no  praying,  no  atonement. 

GUENOLEE 

Let  us  ascend  and  thank  God  for  the  light. 

JEAN-MARIE 

Darkness  is  on  us  yet. 

GUENOLEE 

A  Druid  spell 
Darkens  your  eyes  to  have  forsook  the  Christ! 

JEAN-MARIE 

Not  all  the  water  from  a  hundred  shrines 
Avails  to  wash  your  forehead  free  from  stain. 
How  you  have  teased  me^  played  and  dallied  with 

me. 
Blindfolded  me  and  led  me  through  the  dark. 
Now  will  I  lead  you  by  a  ruthless  road, 
Unto  a  goal  implacable  and  just. 
[236] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


Whither  your  way  was  sped  you  deigned  not  tell. 

But  as  the  bazvalan  and  breutaer 

Toss  back  and  forth  light  sallies  at  the  feast. 

So  ever  when  I  looked  into  your  eyes 

You  veiled  them  with  a  shower  of  sparkling  rays. 

Blue  as  the  deepest  noonday  on  the  sea. 

And  oftentimes  you  sighed  within  your  sleep. 

Nor  had  you  pity  for  my  voiceless  question. 

GUENOLEE 

I  did  not  dream  my  husband  questioned  me. 

JEAN-MARIE 

Tell  me  that  when  you  went  to  Penanheff 
You  did  not  meet  your  lover  at  the  fair 
And  nod  in  secret  at  the  ribbon  booth, 
Madame  Saint  Anne  your  smiling  patroness? 

gue'nole'e 
No,  Jean-Marie,  I  did  not  meet  my  lover. 

JEAN-MARIE 

You  did  not  meet  with  Tamic  at  the  booth. 
When  the  procession  fluttered  banners  white 
And  gold  Saint  Anne  was  borne  into  the  sun? 
Nor  did  you  join  him  at  the  still  lavoir. 
Nor  did  he  walk  with  you  those  cursed  miles 
At  twilight  on  the  road  from  Penanheff? 

[227] 


I 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


GUENOLEE 

We  met  and  walked  together,  Tamic  and  I. 

JEAN-MARIE 

Yes,  Corentine  so  swore  to  me  with  tears. 

GUENOLEE 

Not  Corentine? 

JEAN-MARIE 

She,  the  forsaken  sweet. 
My  sister,  saw  you  at  the  lone  lavoir. 
With  Tamic,  who  had  vowed  his  life  to  her, — 

GUENOLEE 

And  eats  his  heart  in  silence  to  the  end. 

JEAN-MARIE 

He  that  has  wrung  slow  tears  from  Corentine, 
Slabbed  me,  his  friend,  murdered  your  innocence! 

gue'nole'e 
Unravel  for  me  the  tangles  of  your  mind 
Nor  let  us  tarnish  Christ's  clear  risen  glory 
With  idle  accusation  of  crime  unknown. 

JEAN-MARIE 

You  know  the  crime  as  you  shall  know  the  end 
Whereto  our  pilgrimage  is  unfaltering  set. 
To  set  your  faltering  hand  unto  the  stone. 
[238] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


Look  yonder  at  the  landmarks  of  our  race, 
The  brook  Pouldohan,  deep  within  its  gulch, 
The  ancient  yew-tree,  and  the  ruined  mill; 
The  desolate  Druid  stones  of  wild  Tregunc'k 
And  the  waste  lonely  marches  where  you  hear 
La  Torche  boom  dreadfully  far  out  at  sea! 
Uttermost  stone  and  greatest  of  the  line. 
The  Men-Dogan  towers  to  the  day  of  wrath. 
There  creeps  a  rim  of  pallor  round  your  mouth. 
The  sweat  of  fear  that  tightens  round  the  heart. 


Fear,  not  of  you. 


GUENOLEB 
JEAN-MARIE 

What  then? 


GUENOLEE 

A  fear  for  you. 
Who  wore  me  once  the  jewel  on  your  breast, 
Who  held  me  as  a  saint  within  a  shrine 

JEAN-MARIE 

Yes,  so  I  held  you,  heavenly-pure  and  sweet, 
Until 

gue'nole'e 
A  rumour  like  a  spotted  snake 
That  creeps  and  creeps  and  leaves  a  slimy  trail — 
[239] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


JEAN-MARIE 

What  was  the  secret  Tamic  whispered  to  you 
With  Madame  Saint  Anne  smiling  from  her  niche? 

guenole'e 
I  swear  to  you  Tamic  is  not  my  lover^ 
And  yet  perhaps  some  words  of  love  were  spoken. 
But  not  for  me — 

JEAN-MARIE 

For  whom? 

gue'nole'e 

I  cannot  tell. 

JEAN-MARIE 

Words,  Guenolee,  I  should  have  joyed  to  hear? 

GUENOLEE 

No,  Jean-Marie. 

JEAN-MARIE 

How  white  and  stern  she  is! 

(They  walk  in  silence.) 

Now  the  great  Druid  dolmen  lifts  its  head, 

And  wild  La  Torche  calls  her  doomed  children  home. 

Guenolee,  but  repent! 

gue'nolee 

Nay,   I   am   glad. 
[240] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


JEAN-MARIE 

Glad  shall  you  be  to  touch  the  Men-Dogan 
That  moves  not  for  the  frail  nor  the  untrue. 
But  only  the  pure  hand  avails? 


A  lie! 


GUENOLEE 
JEAN-MARIE 

The  stone  of  chastity  a  lie? 

GUENOLEE 

A  lie, 
A  Druid  mummery,  an  old  wives*  tale. 

JEAN-MARIE 

Yet  if  the  Men-Dogan  move  not  for  you 
Perchance  the  sequel  also  shall  become 
An  old  wives'  tale,  to  be  recited  low. 

GUENOLEE 

I  fear  you  not,  for  God  will  interpose, 
If  God*s  will  be  to  save  me,  Jean-Marie. 
If  not,  why,  what  is  life,  that  I  should  grieve? 
If  calumny  has  bewildered  you  to  charge 
Such  sin  on  me,  how  should  a  trembling  stone. 
Even  if  it  tremble  at  my  finger's  touch, 
Change  your  mistrust  to  happiness  again? 

JEAN-MARIE 

Pause,  Guenolee. 

[241] 


THE    PURE    IN    HEART 


GUENOLEE 

What  would  you  now,  I  ask? 

JEAN-MARIE 

O  Guenolee,  once  worshipped  Guenolee. 
How  fair  you  are  and  once  how  innocent! 
How  fair  and  calm,  yet  irretrievably  lost! 

GUENOLEE 

Centuries  have  lain  upon  me  even  to-day 
From  Kerambret  to  this  stone  Men-Dogan. 
Look  deep  into  my  eyes.     Do  you  not  see 
A  wise  and  ancient  soul,  baptised  in  grief? 
Look,  Jean-Marie! 

JEAN-MARIE 

I  do  not  dare  to  look. 
Your  eyes  are  like  an  angel's.     I  have  heard 
Such  eyes  they  were  that  tempted  Saint  Jerome. 
A  woman's  eyes  are  like  a  Venice  cup, 
Like  swords  that  kill,  like  baleful  stars  that  burn. 
Like  all  things  lovely,  terrible. 

GUENOLEE 

Nay,  look! 

JEAN-MARIE 

When  I  have  drawn  my  knife  above  your  throat 
Then  will  I  take  a  long  look  and  the  last 

[242] 


THE    PURE    IN    HEART 


Upon  your  little  flower-like  upturned  face; 
'Twill  lie,  O  Guenolee,  upon  my  knee, 
Your  dark  hair  falling  backward  on  the  grass 
And  my  hand  underneath,  just  as  of  old. 
Then  my  last  kiss  will  hang  above  your  lips 
Like  the  imperial  bee's  above  his  cup. 
He  hangs  in  air,  he  quivers  for  the  plunge. 
So  I  that  last  keen  poisoned  draught  of  you. 
For  memory  of  past  hours,  my  Guenolee, 

GUENOLEE 

Hush! 

JEAN-MARIE 

Then  the  knife! 


GUENOLEE 

Hush,  we  are  not  alone. 

JEAN-MARIE 

While  in  your  eyes 

GUENOLEE 

On  the  stone's  farther  side ! 

(Voices  are  heard  from  the  other  side  of 
the  great  dolmen.) 

JEAN-MARIE 

A  man  and  woman !    By  the  Men-Dogan ! 
[243] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


GUENOLEE 

Tamic! 

JEAN-MARIE 

And   Corentine! 

GUENOLEE 

How  close  they  stand! 
Stoop  here  among  the  heath!     Stir  not! 


PART    TWO 

TAMIC     AND     CORENTINE 
CORENTINE 


Tamic! 


TAMIC 

No,  it  was  not  revenge,  that  could  not  be. 
A  broken  life  may  not  be  mended  so. 
Revenge  will  not  knit  up  the  ravelled  life. 

CORENTINE 

Why  have  you  followed  me?    I  heard  La  Torche 
Call,  call  me,  and  I  fain  obeyed, — La  Torche, 
Sucking  the  sea-waifs  downward  endlessly,  ■ 
Tempestuous  soother  of  wrecked  ships  and  souls, 

TAMIC 

Poor  child! 

[244] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


CORENTINE 

I  ran,  I  ran. 

TAMIC 

You  heard  my  voice? 

CORENTINE 

Here  I  sank  down,  outdone  for  weariness. 

TAMIC 

In  the  pitiless  shadow  of  the  Druid  stone  I 

CORENTINE 

The  Stone  of  Chastity,  moveless  for  me! 

TAMIC 

Moveless  for  you. 

CORENTINE 

It  was  my  own  lips  that  pronounced  my  sentence. 
Had  you  been  merciful! 

TAMIC 

My  soul  was  killed. 
If  I  had  loved  you  less !     I  loved  too  much. 
As  if  one  told  me  that  the  Christ  in  heaven 
Had  sold  himself,  so  when  you  told  me  how 
The  thing  I  held  most  sacred  in  the  world 
Had  thus  been  flung  to  earth,  a  light  o'  love, 
How  on  another's  breast  your  head  had  lain. 

Your  lips  had  touched  another's 

[245] 


THE    PURE    IN    HEART 


CORENTINE 

Ah,  no  more ! 

TAMIC 

It  seemed  the  very  stones  were  eyes  of  flame. 
The  leaves  were  passionate  tattlers  of  the  thing. 

CORENTINE 

I  was  so  young  and  I  was  left  alone. 
He  swept  me  like  a  billow  off  my  feet. 
I  knew  not  what  love  meant  until  you  came. 

TAMIC 

0  but  those  bitter  moments  closed  upon  me 
Like  armed  men,  and  blinded,  desperate, 

I  fought  them  back,  recoiling  in  the  dark. 
Then  I  burst  out  upon  you  in  my  madness. 

CORENTINE 

1  knelt  before  you,  raimented  in  tears, — 
Tamic,  Tamic !     But  you  would  not  forgive. 
Though  my  lost  feet  went  bleeding  unto  hell, 
Lost,  bleeding,  for  the  hand  that  you  refused. 

TAMIC 

I  am  consumed  with  grief  remediless 
In  ruth  for  you. 

CORENTINE 

And  that  poor  kiss  of  mine 
Went  outcast,  beggared. 

[246] 


THE    PURE    IN    HEART 


TAMIC 

Corentine/ poor  child, 
Your  lips  on  mine  had  blotted  out  the  world. 
I  counted  it  a  virtue  to  withhold 
But  yet  to  bear  the  brunt  of  my  withholding, 
Letting  it  go  abroad  as  faithlessness. 
Thus  all  the  country-side  from  Kerambret 
To  Pouldphan  pelted  Tamic  with  scorn 
And  ringed  an  aureole  for  Corentine. 

CORENTINE 

All  this  is  true,  Tamic. 

TAMIC 

I  bore  the  blame. 
And  even  Jean-Marie,  my  boyhood's  friend, 
Too  careless  guardian  of  your  tender  youth, 
Deemed  you  unsullied  as  the  new-born  rose, 

CORENTINE 

{Bitterly.)     I  that  had  sown  my  petals  in  the  mire ! 
All  this  is  true,  Tamic.    I  a  black  thing. 
Yet  ringed  about  with  sickly  saintliness. 
And  you  a  shining  one,  robed  pitifully, 
A  target  for  the  mud  of  wayfarers. 
Under  which  semblance  did  you  walk  and  talk 
And  spend  the  hours  with  her,  my  brother's  wife, 

[247] 


THE    PURE    IN    HEART 


The  lovely  Guenolee,  compassionate 
For  your  despiteful  usage,  or  perchance. 
She  was  allured  by  tang  of  hinted  deeps. 
As  gentle  women  are,  I  know,  I  know. 

TAMIC 

In  God's  name,  do  not  speak  of  Guenolee! 

CORENTINE 

Every  old  hedger  and  crone  in  Kerambret 
Will  gossip  soon  of  you  and  Guenolee. 

TAMIC 

You  are  mad,  you  are  mad. 

CORENTINE 

Sooth,  what  has  maddened  me 
But  stinging  thoughts  of  you  and  Guenolee? 

TAMIC 

And  she  as  high  as  Mary  crowned  in  heaven. 

CORENTINE 

What,  Guenolee?     The  twilight  lane,  the  tryst- 


TAMIC 

Ah,  Corentine,  once  and  not  long  ago. 
You  were  too  young  for  that  dark  under-look. 
The  innocence  of  those  who  have  not  learned 
Gives  clearer  vision  far. 

[248] 


THE   PURE   IN   HEART 


CORENTINE 

I  have  been  taught. 

TAMIC 

You  have  not  learned  the  soul  of  Guenolee, 
A  soul  that  knows  and  yet  is  pure  of  guile. 

CORENTINE 

What  does  she  know.^ 

TAMIC 

She  knows  the  pain  and  passion 
That  brought  the  darkness  to  your  underlids. 
She  knows  you,  shields  you,  loves  you  and  believes. 

CORENTINE 

What,  Guenolee?    And  he? 

TAMIC 

Is  in  the  dark. 
{On  the  other  side  of  the  Men-Dogan.) 

JEAN-MARIE 

In  dark  till  now.    Ah,  Guenolee,  my  wife! 

TAMIC 

She  passionately  defended  you  and  pleaded 


CORENTINE 

For  me.^ 

[249] 


THE    PURE    IN    HEART 


TAMIC 

For  you. 

CORENTINE 

What,  Guenolee? 

TAMIC 

Even  so. 
She  said  that  God  makes  pure  through  suffering, 
That  He  would  comfort  you  as  some  lost  lamb 
Safe  in  the  shepherd's  bosom.     Could  I  do  less? 
Could  man  be  more  implacable  than  heaven? 
She  showed  me  all  the  sin  and  all  the  blame. 
The  hateful  love  that  was  idolatry. 
The  love  I  bore  you. 

CORENTINE 

Nay,  Tamic,  my  lover. 
But  love  me  once  again  as  once  you  loved. 

TAMIC 

Never  again  the  old  idolatrous  way. 

CORENTINE 

I  dreamed  one  moment — that  you  had  forgiven. 

TAMIC 

Mine  is  the  crying  need  to  be  forgiven, 
I,  the  unmerciful  judge  condemning  you. 
I  should  have  been  a  shield  and  buckler  to  you. 
[250] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


CORENTINE 

I  am  asleep  and  dream  a  miracle! 
Look,  I  will  lay  a  finger  on  the  Stone 
And  if  it  tremble  to  my  touch,  Tamic, 
Then  I  shall  know  the  miracle  is  true. 
The  priceless  gift  of  love  and  absolution. 
It  were  a  miracle  that  the  Stone  should  move 
To  my  frail  finger.     Virgin,  give  me  strength! 
The  Men-Dogan  shall  answer.     Nay,  I   fear! 
The  mother  of  doomed  souls  is  calling  for  me. 
Lo,  if  this  sign  shall  fail,  La  Torche,  La  Torche! 

(^At  the  touch  of  Corentine*s  finger,  the 
Men-Dogan  sways  on  its  base.) 

GUENOLEE 

(Whispering.)     For  God,  who  judges  of  the  pure 
in  heart. 
Hath  made  the  Druid  stone  his  oracle. 
And  radiant  parable  of  purity. 
Even  as  the  Angel  lifted  up  the  stone. 
Hath  the  great  burden  gone  from  Corentine, 

CORENTINE 

The  whole  earth  swims  to  trembling  and  to  bright- 
ness; 
The  Lord  is  risen  this  day.     Kiss  me,  Tamic! 
[251] 


THE    PURE    IN   HEART 


JEAN-MARIE 

My  blessed  Guenolee! 

GUi^NOLifE 

Bless  thou  our  Lord 
Who  has  dwelled  to-day  within  the  Druid  stone. 


[252] 


TITLE    INDEX 


TITLE    INDEX 


After  Long  Absence,  252 
After  the  Long  Rain,  199 
After  Victory,  106 
Alpine  Glow,  47 
And  One  Stands  Out,  224 
As  a  Little  Child,  83 
Asgarda  in  Baghdad,  38 
As  in  the  Endless  Night,  225 
At  Dead  of  Night,  197 
At  Sleeping  Water,  32 

B 

Before  the  Dawn,  144 
Beyond  the  Spectrum,  107 
The  Bird,  169 
The  Borderland,  151 

C 

The  Call  of  Spring,  175 

Captain  and  King,  45 

A  Challenge,  82 

The  Child  that  Once  You  Were,  109 

Childhood,  220 

A  City  Dweller,  223 

The  Cloud  and  the  Mountain,  13C 


[255] 


TITLE    INDEX 


Compensation,  52 
The  Country  that  He  Knew,  61 
The  Curse  on  Dunoon,  66 
The  Cross  of  Joy,  222 

D 

Dancing  GavrMnay,  13 
The  Diary,  110 
The  Dream-Child,  116 
The  Dying  Child,  103 

E 

The  East,  168 

The  Eldest-Born,  113 

Extinction,  132 

F 

The  Far  Country,  181 
Forerunners,  84 
The  Fugitives,  80 
The  Fugue,  221 

G 

Genius,  128 
A  Girl  of  Lazistan,  42 
The  Glacier,  177 
The  Grebe,  163 

H 
The  Heart  of  the  Woods,  165 
The  Heart's  Country,  56 
Heimweh,  111 

The  House  of  Great  Content,  179 
The  House  to  His  First  Mistress,  89 

[256] 


TITLE    INDEX 


I 

In  a  Ruined  Abbey,  64 

Indian  Summer,  184 

Introspect,  101 

It  Is  Our  Sin  to  Have  Remembered,  91 

J 
Jannik  and  CJenevieve,  16 

K 
Kismet  and  the  King,  36 

L 

The  Lamp  of  the  Genii,  148 
Lettice,  10 
Low  Tide,  154 

M 
Melanie  a  Melan^on,  7 
Monique  Rose,  23 
The  Mountain  God,  57 

P 

The  Passionate  Pilgrim,  54 

The  Past,  92 

The  Pilgrim  Bell,  58 

The  Pine-Tree  Lovers,  219 

The  Poet  Moon,  46 

The  Prophet,  130 

The  Pure  in  Heart,  299 

Purple  Crocuses  in  the  Val  Bregaglia,  167 

[257] 


TITLE    INDEX 


R 

The  Railway  Yard,  86 
Recognition,  93 
Rondels,  168 
Rose  Hfere,  27 

S 

Sea-Blood,  172 

Sermons  in  Trees,  170 

The  Simple-Hearted  Days,  220 

A  Single  Mind,  94 

The  Slain  Ones,  48 

Sleeping  Erinnys,  77 

The  Solitary,  118 

The  Song  of  the  Saw-Mill,  190 

The  Sorrowful  Stream,  96 

The  Soul  of  the  Goldenrod,  187 

The  Supreme  Forgiveness,  95 

T 

Tension,  158 

Theophany,  97 

They  that  Stand  on  the  Edge,  122 

To  Harriet,  142 

The  Tortured  Millions,  124 

To  a  Wood  Path,  146 

The  Traveller,  133 

Twilight  in  Italy,  50 

U 

The  Unattainable,  51 

The  Unremembered,  104 

The  Unknown  Quantity,  126 

Upon  the  Fringes  of  the  Forest,  22i 

[258] 


TITLE    INDEX 


V 

Vagrants,  153 

The  Vain  Prince,  98 

W 

Waking  Song,  156 
Water  Fowl  in  the  Fog,  159 
The  Wedding  Guest,  99 
We  Were  Lovers,  70 
White  Nights,  134 
Wind-footed   Loveliness,  3 
The  Wood-Spell,  201 
Wounded,  161 

Y 

You  and  I,  219 


THE   END 


[259] 


I  u    -ru^t_  I 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  UBRARY 


